


Interlude

by Lizbettywrites



Series: Interlude [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Ambulon is A Young (ish), Ambulon origin headcanons, Combat Unit Dynamics, Doomed Relationship, First Dates, Flashbacks, Minor Character Death, Other, Rare Pairings, masses of OCs to fill out the cast, technically fits into canon as far as I know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-08-14
Packaged: 2019-04-21 05:23:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 37
Words: 24,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14277825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizbettywrites/pseuds/Lizbettywrites
Summary: A few months out of a several-million-year war doesn't seem like much. For Ambulon and Riptide, it might as well be everything.Based on a prompt answer from Bibliotecaria_D that can be found at https://lizbettywrites.tumblr.com/post/154078522316/challenge-how-would-you-ship-the-as-of-yet





	1. Ambulon

Ambulon's first impression of this base was wet. The planet Checcor had a vast network of wide rivers crisscrossing its surface, and the rocky land tapered to smoothly-eroded shores at their edges. It was raining, and the swollen-looking riverbeds suggested a climate that didn’t do much else.

Acron itself was a huge, low building, impressive from the air but unimposingly squat once Ambulon stood before its open hangar. He and his fellow transfers were ushered inside, and the shuttle lifted off without further acknowledgment, leaving the hangar door to close and seal out the river water once more. It seemed like a waste of fuel to not take some sort of munitions or personnel back to the transport ship in exchange, but what did he know about Autobot supply systems?

A fair bit, actually. Ambulon had an aptitude for that sort of thing, but he'd never had the chance to use it in an administrative position. Funny how the Autobots trusted him with their mecha's health before they'd allow him to coordinate schedules.

He'd prove his worth someday. For now, he just had to make it through another evaluation. Primus, would it never end? Two years he'd been wearing the badge, and Command was still checking up on him like they thought he'd run back to his... well.

At least the psychiatrist, Ring or Rang or whatever his name was, Ambulon was too irritated at the moment to search his memory, asked relevant questions. Not that he'd been able to answer them, but that was why they were relevant. Ambulon knew why he'd defected to the Autobots, and he knew that he'd stay with the Autobots because he knew that he'd never return to the Decepticons ever, thank you very much.

The base was a bit less stark inside. Someone had graffitied “WHERE THE WILD WAVES ROLL” on a wall. It had been halfheartedly painted over so that the letters were a duller shade of blue, but someone else had added “(out)” at the signature’s end in bright red, which belied even that lackluster attempt at cleanup.

Ambulon had to stop and ask for directions a few times on the walk to Conference Room 2A. Why did this place need so many rooms? He’d guess from the base’s size that it could contain up to two hundred Autobots, and yet the groups he was seeing were small and scattered, to the point where, unless over half the personnel were sleeping, it seemed like a force closer to half of that. All of which he could have just been briefed on if Command had authorized him to get the base briefing.

And now he was annoyed again, but he’d reached the conference room and was standing in front of the Acron command staff, and the irritation was replaced by a gnawing sensation in his tank.

What if they read his file and decided he wasn’t of any use to Acron, or that he must be a spy and sent him to be executed? Experience should have been enough to ease his fear, but unease still prickled through his fuel lines at every hint of scrutiny. After all, he was still being evaluated by risk assessment at every new base.

Ambulon didn’t recognize any of the five officers sitting at the conference table. He saluted and waited for instruction, doing his best to keep his vents and gaze even.

“At ease, soldier,” the green mech second from the right told him. “Welcome to Acron. I take it introductions are in order?”

Realizing he was expected to answer, Ambulon nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Right, then. I’m the personnel administrator, so you’ll be seeing a lot of me as you settle in. The name’s Hyperion. You will stick to ‘sir.’ The same should go for all of us.”

“Yes, sir.” This was an interaction he was familiar with at every base. Same tune, different song. In a way, it was comforting to find that at least the structure remained the same throughout the Autobot faction.

“On my left is Hacksaw. He’s our field commander, so you won’t see much of him unless he winds up in the medibay.”

“Which is known to happen on occasion,” the small blue mech said with a wry smile. Ambulon’s attention was drawn to the vicious-looking blades on his forearms. Yikes. Melee warriors like that were a nightmare to two groups of people: the enemy soldiers and the medical staff.

“I’m Firebolt,” the black mech on the other end of the table said suddenly. “Head of engineering.” Which meant that he had nothing to offer this meeting and likely could be more productive doing just about anything else.

The mech next to him had a frame that reminded Ambulon of a security officer he’d met early on, the one who’d done so much of his vetting before his initiation ceremony. What a nightmare that had been. He’d asked every question eight times over the course of the interview to see if Ambulon’s answers changed. “Head of security Clamp Down,” he introduced himself. Ambulon was relieved to note that he didn’t seem particularly inclined to demand they throw the ex-’Con in the brig at once until he could personally interview him.

Clamp Down gestured to the red and gold mech in the middle. “And this is our base commander—”

“Afterburn,” said commander took over, sitting up straight. “Now, we’ve all got places to be, so let’s dive right in, hm?”

“Ambulon of Operation: Split Infinity,” Firebolt read from a datapad on the table in front of him, “initiated into the Autobot ranks after defection from the Decepticons, probationary period completed one year previous to current report…” He scrolled quickly the way through the psychiatrist’s evaluation until he got to the note he was meant to read. “While Ambulon’s mental condition upon changing factions was severe enough to warrant his restrictions remaining in effect for so long, I have every confidence that the strong positive trend of progress he has made since will continue and that they will soon no longer be needed to ensure his well-being in the Autobot ranks.” He set the datapad down, task complete, and Clamp Down took over.

“Given Rung’s recommendations, we have decided to start easing your restrictions over the course of your time here. Checcor has a Decepticon presence, and your file tells us that this is your first Autobot post so close to a post belonging to your old faction, so we’ll take it slow. You may not access the power grid or communications hub, and you may not enter the hangar or the labs without a supervisor. Aside from that, you have the same freedom as your peers to move about the base as your shift schedule allows.”

“You aren’t likely to see battle, being in the medibay,” Hacksaw spoke up. “Nevertheless, I would suggest that you get some basic hand-to-hand training. If you’re so inclined, just let me know, and I’ll make time to help out.” He turned to his right. “Hyperion?”

“Oh, right.” The personnel administrator sat up straighter. “Your primary supervisor will be our head doctor, Shortfuse. He’ll show you the ropes on your first shift. You’ll sleep in Barrack Two with the other medical staff. There aren’t many of them here, so I’m trusting you’ll be able to stay off of each other’s nerves and work together efficiently.” He gestured for Firebolt to pass the datapad and scrolled through in search of something. “This report mentioned that you’ve had trouble forging any sort of connection with your fellow Autobots. Do you have anything to add to that?”

Ambulon hadn’t been asked this one before. He frowned. “I suppose I’m just not very social, sir.”

Afterburn leaned forward, elbows on the table and chin in his hands. “Not very social in general, or not very social with Autobots? Perhaps you have difficulty relating to your new peers?”

“I’ve never been very outgoing,” Ambulon bit out, “sir. It’s nothing to do with faction.”

“You know,” Afterburn didn’t seem to be listening to him, instead addressing his fellow officers, “I’ve often said that a lack of dating can be detrimental to these defectors’ proper integration into our ranks.” Ambulon blinked. The base commander waved a hand vaguely. “See, the trouble is that on the other side they don’t have any idea of what a healthy relationship looks like, so they come over here and can’t fit in with the rank and file, and it’s a miserable situation all ‘round. Once they get themselves out there and get their toes wet, problem solved. Seen it plenty of times.”

Ambulon found that hard to believe, but he tried to smooth out his scowl as the officers’ attention returned to him. “I’ll… take that under advisement, sir.”

“Excellent! Meeting adjourned!”

Ambulon stood at attention until they had all filed out, then headed out into the hall. He stopped just outside the door, ex-vented, and sat down on the nearest bench to get his thoughts in order. He’d had worse evaluations, but the unprofessionalism of this one was astounding. Just how long had this base commander held his post?

No, that wasn’t important. He just had to keep his head down and—The nerve of him, though! As if Ambulon needed the hassle of a relationship, and really, what kind of idiot tried to date someone in the middle of a war?

On the other hand, Afterburn would probably call it a sign of latent Decepticon sympathies if he didn’t show some kind of effort to follow his advice, however ridiculous it was.

“Guess you can’t win them all,” he muttered.

“Yeah,” someone sighed next to him, “and most of the time, you can’t even win most.”

“The more you try to please everyone—”

“The less you win.”

Realizing that he’d only spoken half of what was just said, Ambulon glanced up and realized that the bench’s other occupant was staring at him. He stared back, unsure of how to react, and in the awkward silence, looked his unexpected companion over.

Aquatic altmode, most likely. That kibble looked very… watertight. The mech had a friendly-looking face, even if he was gaping. Ambulon couldn’t fault him for that; it wasn’t every day a stranger jumped in to tag-team your soliloquy.

“Ambulon,” he said finally, holding out a hand. The Autobot hesitated, then accepted the handshake.

“Riptide.” He cocked his head to the side curiously, which drew Ambulon’s attention to a very nice crest extending from his helm. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. What’s your division?”

“Medical. You?”

“Frontliner. One of the Hydrobots.”

What was that Afterburn said ex-‘Cons ought to do? Get their toes wet?


	2. Riptide

As far as he was concerned, Riptide’s day had started out in the worst way possible. Someone on base had decided that the combat units needed refresher courses on Autobot history. It just went to show how slow the action had gotten lately, that they could spare so many of the combat units in shifts to take the assessment.

In Riptide’s opinion, the lack of ‘Con attacks probably meant that they should be gearing up to defend against something big—or attack now, while they were distracted with whatever was going on behind their lines. But that wasn’t some random frontliner’s call. And after that disaster of an exam, he’d never have to worry about being promoted. He’d compared answers with his squad afterward, and… yeah. Even Sink’s answers had matched up with the rest of the squad’s more than his had, and Sink didn’t give a scrap about that stuff.

Lost in thought, Riptide sat on the nearest bench. All his old fears from construction were resurfacing, and that wasn’t a road he wanted to go down standing up. All the old what-ifs flooded his mind.

What if something was actually wrong with him? Something that he couldn’t control? What if he couldn’t learn better because it wasn’t in his coding? What if he’d been built wrong? What if his processor was messed up somehow? What if something was in the wrong place or was missing altogether?

He’d bet forged mecha never had to worry about this stuff.

But what if most MTOs didn’t think about it, either? What if he was the only one who got worked up over his own brain? The others didn’t think it was hard. What if they thought his fear of testing was weird? What if they thought he was stupid, or broken, or useless? What if they actually knew something was wrong with him, and they weren’t telling him in order to spare his feelings?

He was startled out of his downward spiral by a voice by his shoulder.

“Guess you can’t win them all.”

Riptide sighed. “Yeah, and most of the time, you can’t even win most.”

“The more you try to please everyone—” the mech beside him continued, seeming not to notice him.

“The less you win,” he finished, staring at the stranger, who looked up and froze, staring back with wide eyes. He looked surprised but in a pleasant sort of way. His gaze flicked up and down Riptide’s chassis, making him feel a little exposed by the intensity of its focus.

Riptide found himself thinking that his nose and jawline cut a really nice profile, at which point in his thoughts he realized that his own jaw had fallen. Riptide closed his mouth.

The stranger offered his hand. “Ambulon,” he introduced himself.

Riptide grasped it nervously—please don’t be awkward, please don’t mess this up—and they shook.

Oh, right, introductions. Think casual. Be cool. Be normal. “Riptide. I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. What’s your division?”

Ambulon released his hold. Had the handshake gone on too long? He knew he’d mess it up. “Medical. You?”

He could do this; he could have a conversation without making too much of a fool out of himself. “Frontliner. One of the Hydrobots.”

The corner of Ambulon’s mouth turned up. “Well, Riptide,” he said slowly, “this is going to sound sudden, but would you care to join me for a cube?”

“Like, a date cube?” Riptide blurted, unable to believe his audial receptors.

“Last I checked, there wasn’t a difference in the fuel, but yes, a date cube.”

Holy Primus on a space scooter. “Um. Okay? Yes. Yes, I’d like to. Um. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” Ambulon fell silent, an odd expression on his face.

Riptide realized that they’d both messed up, and more importantly, that was okay because they’d both messed up. He grinned. “So, like, now or later?”

Ambulon refocused his optics. “Now, if that’s all right.”

“It is!” Riptide stood up.

“The thing is...” Ambulon reset his vocalizer. “...I just transferred here, so I don’t actually know where the mess hall is.”

“Is that all? No worries, mech, I’ll show you around!” He stopped as a thought struck. “You know, you didn’t have to ask me out for that. I’m happy to help anyway.”

“No, no,” Ambulon rushed, “that’s not why I asked. I just…” he trailed off for a moment, then seemed to find the words he wanted, “think I’d like to get to know you.”

“Well, that, uh… that sounds great?”

“Sorry, I know it’s all really sudden and awkward, and I’ve never done this before, so…”

“Me neither!” Riptide offered him his brightest grin and started down the hall. “Come on, then!”

This day had just gotten a heck of a lot better.


	3. Ambulon

Ambulon wasn’t sure what pre-war dates had looked like, but for past mecha’s sakes, he hoped they didn’t take place anywhere as loud and rowdy as the Acron mess hall. Riptide showed him where the energon dispensary sat, and they brought their ration cubes to the end of one of the long tables in the center of the room. Everywhere around them, mecha were talking over one another, creating a discordant, constant noise.

“My full name’s Riptide of Simanzian Dawn,” his companion said, leaning across the table in an apparent effort to keep from having to shout.

“Ambulon of Operation: Split Infinity,” he rattled off on automatic. So they did have some common footing after all. “I’ve heard about Simanzi…”

“It was pretty brutal going into that mess as a first mission,” Riptide admitted. He took a sip of his fuel. “I don’t think I’ve heard of Operation: Split Infinity before.”

“It was a confidential project,” Ambulon said quickly. “A failed one. It never really got off the ground.” How could he change the subject? “So, what can you tell me about this place? The base commander seems a little… overbearing.”

“Oh, he’s an aft. Everyone knows he got assigned command of Acron so he’d have something to keep him busy, and it’s the other officers who do the real work.”

Ambulon leaned forward, resting his chin on clasped hands. “Really. I had wondered.”

Riptide was only too happy to continue. “Yeah, I don’t think he even notices. They have him sign off on stuff all the time, but Cold Front says he hardly looks at the datapads. Cold Front’s my squad leader,” he explained. “The unit leaders are technically all officers, so they go to the meetings and stuff. He says it’s really boring, except for when someone gets Afterburn going on about some overblown tactical idea or other. Or when Cold Front sets off pranks in the conference room, but it’s been a while since he could do that because Clamp Down started showing up early and keeping the door locked beforehand.” He grinned. “The other officers hate having him at meetings, but protocol and all that, you know?” The grin suddenly drooped. “Sorry, I’m rambling.”

“No, no, this is great!” Ambulon gestured around them. “I’ve never gotten to hear about a base from this perspective. It’s interesting. And I don’t have any stories—” none that he wanted to share, anyway, “—so it’s really up to you to carry the conversation. Sorry to drop that responsibility on you.”

“Oh, come on! You must have something! You caught on to Afterburn right away, so you’ve got to have noticed more than that.”

“Well…” He bit his lip before a smirk escaped onto his face. “Does Firebolt always do that cross-eyed thing when he’s talking to mecha?”

Riptide guffawed. “He does!”

They spent the next half hour going over the features and quirks of Acron and its personnel. Ambulon was grateful for the kind of in-depth descriptions Riptide offered. This was far better than a briefing.

By the time his chronometer let him know it was nearly time for his first shift, he felt more settled than he had in any prior base.

“I’d better get going,” he said reluctantly. “I’ve got my first shift in the medibay, and I haven’t met the head doctor yet.”

Riptide downed the rest of his fuel and jumped up. “I’ll show you where it is!”

Ambulon smiled in spite of himself. “You already did.” He held out his hand once more. “Thanks for doing this with me.”

Riptide shook it. “Hey, no problem! It was fun! Do you, uh… do you want to do it again sometime?”

“When does your next shift end?”

“Eighteen-hundred, I think. Watch shifts are long.”

“Would you want to meet back here after?”

“Sure!” He seemed in no hurry to let go of Ambulon’s hand. Ambulon coughed, and Riptide released him hurriedly. “Sorry, I got… distracted.”

“No worries,” he replied. He caught a glint of red and gold in his peripheral vision and glanced to the side.

“So you’ve got to…”

“Go. Right.”

Afterburn and Firebolt were staring at him from the corner table.

“I’ll get rid of the cubes.”

“Thanks.”

A satisfied feeling settled in Ambulon’s tank.

“See you later, Riptide,” he called after the Hydrobot.

He’d show them.


	4. Riptide

Halfway through his shift, Riptide was still thinking about Ambulon. If he didn’t appreciate the miracle as just that, it might slip from his grasp. It was a miracle, wasn’t it, that of all the clunky boatformers, of all the mecha on base, period, the new medic would ask him out? Extra-clunky Riptide, who everyone knew was lacking in the brains and social skills departments, had gone on a date with the attractive new transfer. He could practically feel himself puffing up proudly.  
And Ambulon had agreed to a second date. How incredible was that?

The watch stations were little more than platforms on stilts. Roofs would interfere with visibility, so Riptide and Cold Front—and the rest of the Hydrobots, as they were divided among the stations—were stuck out in the rain. It was almost always raining on Checcor. They didn’t mind it, really, not as far as they said to one another, but it got boring after a while.

“So,” Cold Front began suddenly, “how’s it going?”

Riptide opened his mouth to respond before realizing that his squad leader was talking over a commlink.

A tinny echo of someone’s voice made a reply, and Cold Front huffed in amusement. “Topsail, don’t be the seventeenth rusted hubcap on an eighteen-wheeler.”

Riptide could hear their hydroplane teammate’s shouted retort from the nearest watch station as well as over Cold Front’s link.

Cold Front just grinned. “What, Tops, you gonna hop over the line to hang around your flyer buddies instead?”

The following screech of indignation made Cold Front grit his dentae, but he was still smirking. They all knew Topsail was red through and through. It was just fun to needle him. He got so defensive about his alt mode.

Riptide’s mind wandered as he scanned the horizon. No movement aside from the downpour. No flashes of color or reflected light. Same as the last few weeks.

What he’d really been amazed by on that date was how focused Ambulon had been on everything he said. He had expected to be cut off or ignored part-way in, but Ambulon had just let him keep talking and actually engaged with what he said. It was kind of mindblowing. Ambulon’s comments had been so funny, but he’d taken a while to catch on because he delivered them with a terrific deadpan.

Actually, no, scratch that, he still wasn’t sure how many of them had really been jokes. But they’d been funny, and Ambulon had cracked a smile a few times during his stories, so maybe that meant he found Riptide funny? Maybe that was too much to hope for, interesting and funny, but… if everything else that had happened could happen, why not that, too?

Riptide wondered what sort of picture they’d made, sitting at the end of the table, just the two of them, swapping observations and stories. Could the rest of the mess hall tell they were there together, together?

They probably wouldn’t believe it even if they could.

Riptide brought up a memory file on his internal display. Ambulon’s paint job wasn’t the usual medical white and red or another bright color. It was closer to Hydrobot colors, really, which was cool. And that chevron framing his face practically begged to be touched.

Not that he’d be jumping into that anytime soon! Ambulon didn’t seem very tactile. He wouldn’t want to scare him away.

Maybe he could start slow. They’d sort of held hands on the first date. Sort of.

On second thought, he probably shouldn’t try to plan this stuff out beforehand. He’d just freeze up if he thought there was something he’d forgotten, and that wouldn’t be good.

“Riptide. Oi, Riptide. Mission control to Riptide. You in there?”

“Wha—huh?” Riptide shook his helm. He refocused on Cold Front. “What’d you say?”

“Shift’s up, space case,” his squad leader answered, giving him a friendly thump before heading down the ladder.

Riptide ex-vented and followed.

They reunited with the rest of the squad on their way inside.

Current elbowed Riptide. “Spacing out on duty, huh?” he teased. “Must be some daydream if it distracted from that fascinating landscape!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re real funny.” Riptide straightened up, grinning at the sub. “Actually, you all can head to the barrack without me. I’ve got a date.”

The looks on their faces were priceless. He saved an image capture and headed off down the hall, snickering to himself as he heard someone start to run after him, stop, and run back to the others. They could chew on that for a while; he had more interesting things to do.

Ambulon was already waiting when he arrived at the mess hall. He’d even snagged a corner table. Score. The medic waved and pointed to the two cubes he’d already retrieved for them. Riptide hurried over and sat across from him.

“Hi!” He picked up the cube Ambulon slid over to him and took a swig. “Thanks for waiting. Watch duty is exhausting.”

“Don’t worry about it. It hasn’t been long.”

“So, uh, how did your first shift go?”

“Not bad, but there was this one absolute imbecile who had… well, patient confidentiality and all that, but he had something lodged in his wheel well. Something very embarrassing.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“So embarrassing, in fact, that the entire time I was working to remove it, he couldn’t look me in the eyes. Or at me. At all.”

“Must have been pretty awkward, whatever it was.”

Ambulon’s optics gleamed mischievously. “You have no idea,” he purred, “and you never will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://lizbettywrites.tumblr.com/post/173258470656/interlude-introduction-to-the-hydrofrat


	5. Ambulon

He'd arrived at the mess hall an hour early—to save a better table, he'd told himself. It was easy enough to dissuade mecha from taking the other seat with a well-implemented scowl, and it probably didn't hurt his cause that several seemed aware of his former affiliation. Normally Ambulon didn't go around trying to look like a Decepticon, but after the intense feel-good vibes in that medibay, he couldn't help leaning back on familiar tactics.

Hopefully, that bot he growled at wouldn't think too much of it.

There was nothing wrong with the Acron medibay. It was clean, organized, and well-stocked with tools and spare parts. What had disconcerted Ambulon was the head doctor's sheer friendliness.

True to his name, Shortfuse was barely out of the minibot size class. In contrast with it, however, he seemed very even-tempered. He had ushered Ambulon in with an open EM field broadcasting cheerful greeting. It had slightly frazzled edges, but that was something Ambulon had come to expect from any medic.

The small yellow and white bot had shown him around the medibay, pointing out the isolation ward _(if the barracks ever get too loud, you're welcome to recharge here when it's unoccupied)_ and the surgery _(we've got a terrific surgeon; his name's Trapper, and he can be a bit of an aft, but he's got a good spark)_ before sitting Ambulon down on one of the medical berths and handing him a rust stick to snack on while organizing a box of screws. The whole thing had been surreal, but it had gotten more manageable once an afflicted Throttlebot had hobbled in with another right behind him.

Really, it hadn't been a bad experience at all, and Ambulon found himself feeling rather content with his new location. It was the second observation that unsettled him as he left the medibay, so rather than finding something productive to do with his time before meeting Riptide at the mess hall, he'd decided to just go and spend it waiting.

See, the difference between the odd calm he felt in the medibay and his eagerness to talk to the Hydrobot was that the latter came mostly out of an urge to rebel. At least that urge was familiar.  
And it helped that Riptide was fun to be around so far. Ambulon had to admit that much. He had enjoyed their date.

Of course, that seemed a little too much like admitting Afterburn had a point, and there was no way that was happening, even if a push to make a connection like he'd been craving was probably good, psychologically speaking. Nope. That wasn't the point. It could be a perk, though.

"...and if he ever finds himself in a similar situation, I hope that he'll remember today and go take a stasis nap instead."

Riptide's suppressed sniggers erupted into a raucous guffaw. The sound startled Ambulon into laughter himself.

As their chortles died down, Ambulon felt his knees bump into Riptide's under the table, and they stayed there. Just touching. It was nice. He smiled to himself and looked up to catch Riptide watching with the goofiest grin that he'd ever seen.

"You know," the Hydrobot said thoughtfully, you've got a—" He was interrupted by a blaring alarm that echoed through the halls. "Decepticons!" Ambulon thought he caught a muttered " _finally,_ " but he couldn't be sure because Riptide had already jumped up from his seat and swept their empty cubes into the nearest waste chute. "I'd better go meet up with my unit, Ambs. Rain check?"

"On this planet?"

"See you after the action!" the Hydrobot called over his shoulder. Ambulon nodded assent and headed out to the medibay.

"Welcome back!" Shortfuse called as he entered. "Looks like you transferred just in time for the lull to end. Set up those spare gurneys just in case, would you?"  
Preparations for casualties were finished quickly, and Ambulon was left waiting with his supervisor for patients to arrive.

"I've got a couple of friends out there," Shortfuse said conversationally. "It's their shift on the perimeter."

"Mm."

"I can't help but worry about them, times like this. Blindside wasn't built for combat, and it's inspiring that he chooses to fight anyway, but he's really too delicate for the front lines."

Ambulon made another noncommittal sound. This was why he avoided forging attachments.

"And I keep telling Traipse that his doorwings are going to be more of a hindrance than an asset if he insists on melee, but..." Shortfuse trailed off. "I'm sorry. Nerves make me long-winded."

He shrugged. "It's not something I'd have experience with."

The head doctor gave him an assessing look. "Isn't there anyone you don't want to see on that operating table?"

That gave him pause. He certainly didn't want anyone to be injured or killed, but it was a fact of life. On the other hand, if he were to actively wish for someone's well-being...

"I hadn't thought of it that way."

He preferred that grin the way it was: spread over a brightly colored face without any grey.

The casualties began streaming in after what felt like an hour's silence and anticipation. Really, it was more of a trickle than a stream. Ten mecha injured. One dead. Shortfuse's friends and Riptide were not among them.

Relief colored Ambulon's vision as he attended to the wounded.

Afterward, he helped Shortfuse fix up the corpse and follow the dead mech's brief will for what he had wanted done with it. A funeral was arranged, but Ambulon wasn't privy to the details. He focused on making the five overnight patients comfortable.

If he was honest with himself, it was his favorite duty in any medibay, even when patients were utter crankshafts about it. He could snark back at them without repercussion at the same time as he was adjusting their nucleon drips and fixing their positions to keep weight off of injured parts. It was relaxing, and he felt good afterward. But that was the soft sort of thing that he tried to keep on the down-low. Mercy was a useless trait in someone at the bottom of the hierarchy.


	6. Riptide

Riptide had refueled with his squad after the 'Con attack. He waited at the table for a bit while the others headed to the barrack, but there was no sign of Ambulon. Eventually, his next shift rolled around, and it was time to meet up with Washout and Rudder at the communications center.

Ambulon finally showed up as he headed down the hall. The medic fell into step beside him.

"The battle didn't go too badly, I take it," he said, giving Riptide a once-over.

Riptide shrugged. "Not for most of us, anyway. Helps that we've had such a long gap between encounters. We were ready for them."

Ambulon nodded at his arm, where a long scratch had been scored on his plating. "You ought to get that looked at."

"You're looking at it, aren't you?"

"Cheeky bot."

"Really, though, it's fine. Rudder checked it out after we got back in. It's just cosmetic."

"If you say so." Ambulon eyed it a moment more before redirecting his attention. He pulled a data chip from his subspace and held it out. "This has my personal comm frequency. Ping me when you're free; we've got a date to finish."

"Oh." Riptide accepted the chip. "Oh! Thanks! I'll, uh, I'll do that. Do you need mine?"

"I'd appreciate being able to recognize the person pinging me, yeah."

"Right!" He nearly stumbled from the effort to divide his awareness between walking and checking his subspace. Ambulon grabbed his elbow to steady him. The contact was gone as quickly as it had come, but Riptide's tank fluttered. He stopped outside door to the communications hub to focus on finding a data chip and downloading his frequency onto it. "There we go."

Ambulon smiled ever-so-slightly as Riptide handed it to him. "Thanks." It was just as surprising as the first time. He had a really nice smile.

Riptide stood in the doorway and watched him walk away. He tried not to stare too obviously, but when he finally turned to join his squadmates, they were watching him.

"Hey," he said awkwardly. "Uh, how long have you been—?"

Washout's optics looked like they might pop out of his face. "That was your date?"

"Um, yeah?"

"Him?"

"Yeah?"

"But he's..."

"He's what?" Okay, Ambulon was kind of above what Riptide might be expected to catch the eye of, but Washout didn't have to be rude about it. Then again, this was Washout.

Rudder spoke up from his seat at a terminal. "He's ex-'Con, isn't he? Clamp Down said something about him when we arrived to take over the shift."

Riptide reset his optics. "Wait. What?"

"You didn't know?"


	7. Ambulon

Ambulon hadn't expected so many mecha to be using the washracks at one time. He supposed the abundance of water on Checcor was a factor. A ready source of solvent meant that there was little need for rationing it.

The Autobots were paired off to help one another scrub hard-to-reach areas of plating, especially those with bulky kibble. Efficient and companionable.

Ambulon found an unclaimed shower nozzle to stand beneath. He took a rag from his subspace and began to wipe himself down under the spray. A sticky patch of dried energon was giving him trouble when a conversation nearby drew his attention.

Riptide pinged just as he was drying off. Ambulon held back a smile and tucked the cloth back into his subspace before heading out.

The Hydrobot had managed to reclaim the corner table they'd gotten on their last date. He was watching the door on the other side of the mess hall and so didn't notice Ambulon at first. Yellow eyes narrowed as he waited.

Ambulon waved to get his attention, and he flashed a smile that quickly faded back into the otherwise pensive expression he wore. It was weird to see the so-far downright cheerful mech, well, not cheerful. Not downright cheerful, at any rate.

"Rough shift?" Ambulon queried, sliding into the seat opposite him.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a Decepticon?"

Oh.

Ambulon bristled. Why couldn't he just shed that part of his life? It wasn't like he wanted to be known for it. It wasn't like he'd even wanted it to begin with.

"Don't you think that's kind of an important thing to mention?" Riptide pushed. "'Hey, let's go out, it'll be fun, here's my frequency, and just so you know, I'm an ex-'Con in case that's a dealbreaker, which it could totally be because that's a completely reasonable response if you don't want to date someone who used to shoot for the other side.'" He stopped. "Is that why I hadn't heard of Operation: Splitting Hairs—"

"Split Infinity."

"Well, I'm not saying it would have been a dealbreaker, but it's harder to feel secure knowing that you'd hold back something that big."

"Is it that big?"

"It is to me, okay? I'd be fine if you had led with it."

"Would you really?"

Riptide hesitated. "Look..."

Ambulon lowered his voice and leaned forward. "No, you look. I'm an MTO. Just like you. We led with that. The only difference is which side made us." What the frag, he might as well spill a bit more. "You want to know why I left the 'Cons?"

"..."

"Operation: Split Infinity was an experiment. An invasive, unethical experiment, and it wasn't my choice to be constructed for it. I have plenty of baggage, some of it physical, and I don't plan to unload it on anyone. All that matters to me is that I got out."

Riptide bit his lip. "I—"

"I don't want to talk about it more than that," Ambulon cut him off. He couldn't blame the Hydrobot for wanting to be told. He had been going to find out anyway, and it should have come from Ambulon. But now memories were rushing to the front of his mind, and it was taking more concentration to fend them off than he could spare for conversation.

Cold surfaces. Sharp things. Bright lights. Too much white. Pain. Lancing, throbbing, all-consuming. The ache of constant feedback from other sparks. The ache of emptiness when the feedback ended. Voices by his audial receptors, voices over speakers, voices in his processor.

_Welcome online, Combicons._

_Where are we going?_

_Transform. Unit RL, transform._

_It hurts, please, it hurts, you have to do it—_

_I can’t, I can’t do it, I need help—_

_We need you, you need to change—_

_Where are you going?_

_Who's there?_

_No, you can’t, we need you—_

_Please, I need help!_

_We can't—we can't—_

_How are we meant to trust you?_

_Don’t go—you can’t—_

_Relax. It'll be over soon._

_Where are you going?_

_Away._

_Welcome back online, Ambulon._


	8. Riptide

Riptide had gone and fragged it up. Of course he had.

Any trace of anger curled up and died when Ambulon looked at him with optics dim, exhausted, summarizing his history in clipped, clinical words. It was replaced by shame.

"I—"

"I don't want to talk about it more than that."

"Sorry," Riptide mumbled. What else could he say?

Ambulon's gaze drifted, unfocused. "Well, now you know," he said distantly. His expression darkened as he stared at nothing in particular.

Riptide wasn't sure what to do. When Rudder got lost in thought, the squad left him to himself in the privacy of their barrack. But Ambulon was out in the open, and it was Riptide's fault he'd had to remember all of that stuff. He glanced around the mess hall. No one was paying any attention to them. Hacksaw stood in the center of the space, lecturing someone about... something. All optics were on the officer.

Slowly, haltingly, Riptide reached for Ambulon's hand on the table.

The medic latched onto it immediately. After a moment, he reset his optics and vented.

Riptide searched his brain for a subject change.

"I don't know if it happened the same way for you, but when I was built, the eight-step program was still in use."

That seemed to get Ambulon's attention. "That was before my time, but I've heard of it."

He vented slowly, trying to clear his mind of the worry cropping back up. What if he told him, and he laughed? Or what if he didn't want to be around Riptide if his brain didn't work right?

"The exams... all the review and the questions and all that, they were... It was the worst part of my life, and it came right at the start. I still, I still get freaked out about it sometimes. Everyone else in my batch said it was easy. I get hung up on that a lot, like, because something's gotta be wrong with me. I couldn't keep the data packets straight in my head, and the questions didn't make sense, and—"

Ambulon had begun to rub circles into Riptide's hand with his thumb. It was soothing.

"—and I'm rambling. Again." He hunched over the table.

"I'm listening," Ambulon said.

Riptide glanced up and found yellow eyes watching him intently. He coughed, a weak attempt at laughter. "They joke about it a lot. My squad. It's what they do. Stupid jokes are my thing. Like how Topsail hates being called a 'Con for his alt mode, so that's his thing. Or how Current gets needled about sharing fuel, kind of." He ducked his head. "Like, I know I'm not smart, but it still... you know? I hate it, and it's worse because it's true."

"That sounds terrible."

"Well, it's definitely not as bad as what you've been through."

"It's still terrible. I get it."

Ambulon swept his thumb over the back of Riptide’s hand again, and he looked at Riptide instead of past or through as he validated Riptide’s anxiety. Frag.

"The next shift's going to start soon. We should. Uh." Riptide reset his vocalizer. "We should get some fuel. Give me a minute."

He brought their cubes back to the table, feeling a little foolish for spooking. Ambulon didn't say anything about it, though. He just raised his cube in a silent toast. Riptide grinned and returned the gesture. They refueled quickly and disposed of their cubes.

"See you on the next off shift?" he asked as they headed for the doors.

"What, haven’t you got anyone else to bother?" Ambulon smirked up at him.

"Just you, Ambs."

The smirk spread to the other side of his face to complete a smile. "Of course. Ping me."

"Will do!"

Ambulon's brisker pace took him far ahead of Riptide on his way down the hall. If anyone had accused Riptide then and there of craning his neck to admire the view, he would deny it to the end.


	9. Ambulon

Shortfuse met Ambulon at the medibay entrance. His EM field prickled anxiously at the edges. Ambulon accepted the clump of steel wool he was handed and headed for the nearest box of parts.

Several minutes passed in uneasy silence before his supervisor spoke.

"Decepticons attacked a medical facility on Koriandis IV."

"They do that," Ambulon acknowledged flatly. "You'd almost think we were at war, the way they go on."

Shortfuse ex-vented. "It always hits harder when the target's a building full of the wounded."

"Enemy wounded. Why should it make a difference to them?"

Red optics flashed. "It should."

"I know."

"They're defenseless. And Cybertronians as a species are dwindling, and the weak might as well have targets on their backs."

"They do. It's the red badges."

"I just—" He vented heavily. "—wish this war would end already."

"Just? That's a tall order."

"Don't I know it."

Another long silence stretched out between them. Again, it was Shortfuse who broke it, apparently not finished with the topic.

"I've been spending my off shifts in the shooting range. I figure, you know, in case something happens in here, I ought to be prepared to help defend the patients."

"That's very noble of you."

"Look, I get that you don't click with me, and that's fine, but do you have to answer everything with sarcasm?"

Ambulon looked up from the part he'd finished cleaning. Shortfuse had set down his tools and was leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. Waiting for an answer.

"Sorry," he muttered after a moment, then, because it didn't feel like enough with Shortfuse watching him, "Had a rough recall earlier. Trying to cover it up, I guess." To his credit, the head doctor didn't press for more. Ambulon felt a little better. "So you're practicing your shooting? How long has it been?"

"Almost as long as the war's been on," he admitted. "I learned to use a blaster back when I first joined the Autobots, but as soon as my medical training was completed, I hoped I'd never have to use it again."

"Well, at least you've had a few million years of pacifism in between."

Shortfuse gave him a wry smile. "It's certainly been long enough to erode my limited skill into almost nothing."

He had a point about being prepared. Ambulon still wasn’t allowed to carry a blaster, for good reason, considering his mental state upon reaching the Autobots. He’d been a wreck before the spark surgery, and his condition had gotten both better and worse afterward.

Better because the voices and the constant tugging had stopped.

Worse because they left an empty place that pulled on his spark like a black hole.

Unbeknownst to his evaluators, he was experiencing attacks almost weekly. It would be nice to have someone to go to when they hit, but he didn't trust anyone enough to reveal that particular weakness. As for asking another medic to help, well. Shortfuse or Trapper would most likely agree, but it would be awkward as Pit.

If he could just prove his stability to one of the officers here, then maybe they would lift the firearm restriction. In the meantime, there was certainly merit in preparation.

"Shortfuse, do you have Hacksaw's comm frequency?"


	10. Riptide

Ambulon hadn’t responded to Riptide’s ping after shift, so Riptide found himself heading to the mess hall alone. Passing by the sparring room, he caught a glimpse of blue and purple from the corner of his eye. One-track mind protocols slammed the brakes on his legs. He stopped in the doorway to look around. That explained the radio silence.

Ambulon stood in the center of the room, throwing punches at an imaginary opponent.

"Remember, your strength is your biggest advantage. A solid stance will do more to turn a fight in your favor than any fancy footwork." Riptide wasn’t surprised to see Hacksaw playing supervisor. The spiky minibot did love to instruct combat training. Which was good for him, seeing as it was his job and all.

They really could use something for Ambs to focus on. He wasn’t hitting the air anywhere near plausible locations for targets.

Riptide stepped inside the threshold and spoke before his brain could catch up. "Hey, Hacksaw. Can I, uh, can I help? It might be useful for Ambs to have an opponent."

Something glittered in the officer’s eyes. "Riptide! That’s a terrific idea!" He waved him over to stand by Ambulon, who had stopped swinging and was watching the interaction with narrowed eyes. "Afterburn’s been saying a partner’d do some good."

Next to him, Ambulon made a pfft noise. Riptide got the feeling he was missing something, but then, when was he not?

"All right, you two, square up!"

"Yessir," they said in unison. Their eyes met for a moment in mutual surprise at the sync. Riptide reset his vocalizer to keep from chuckling, and his could have sworn that Ambulon’s lips turned up ever so slightly.

Hacksaw interrupted the moment. "Let’s start with a few blows. Ambulon, remember what I said about your strengths. Riptide’s bigger, but—"

"—I know, sir," Ambulon cut him off. "Don’t let’s warn him right off the bat, hm?" He threw a punch.

Riptide stepped aside, grinning. "You’re gonna have to do better than that, Ambs. The air was taking it easy on you."

He aimed a hit of his own for the medic’s shoulder, but Ambulon ducked and came up swinging. "And you’re not?"

Riptide’s next punch landed square in the center of Ambulon’s chestplate, knocking him back with a startled noise.

Riptide froze. "Slag, sorry—"

"Don’t apologize." Ambulon adjusted his footing and brought his fists up again. "How else am I supposed to learn? Do it again."

He ex-vented, simultaneously relieved and regretting volunteering.

On his next strike, Ambulon grabbed hold of his wrist and pushed him past, moving out of range at the same time.

Okay, maybe he was right. Coddling wouldn’t help him learn.

This could be a real challenge.

Riptide lowered his shoulders and charged his partner with the intent to knock him off his feet.  
The medic met him with a shoulder to his midsection. He shoved up as they connected, flipping Riptide over his shoulder.

He landed with an "oof!" back kibble to the cold stone floor. Ambulon was on him before he could react.

He was much, much heavier than expected.

Riptide was pinned.

Their faces were nearly touching.

He cringed inwardly as his fans kicked on.


	11. Ambulon

The sudden proximity took Ambulon by surprise. In the excitement of sparring, he hadn’t considered how overwhelming it would be to…

Riptide was right there, their plating indecently flush thanks to Ambulon’s inexperienced attempt at immobilizing his opponent. It was so much to take in, so much more contact than he’d had in so long.

And their fields intermingled, too. Riptide’s EM field was everywhere, flooding his sensors with sensation and what he took a moment to realize were the Hydrobot’s broadcast anticipation, eagerness, thrill, and something else that wasn’t registering in the midst of this wave of connection.

Riptide’s field supported him, held him, buoyed him up, and he was losing himself in it.

His fans spun to life as he stared down at this mech who’d let him come close, so close, closer than he’d been to anyone since—

Well. Since before he’d defected.

The sobering thought brought him out of the haze to remember that he had an audience. He quickly scrambled off of Riptide and gave him a hand up, only to become aware of a second set of fans whirling noisily.

He had to feel that contact again. It was like the first rainfall after a drought, and every particle of his being hungered for more.

He addressed his supervising officer. "Thanks for the lesson, sir. I’m feeling a fair bit more... confident." He’d noticed that smirk when Riptide walked in. Let Hacksaw take this tale back to Afterburn. Then he turned to his sparring partner. "Riptide, I’d like to find something to do now. What do you think?"

Riptide gave an enthusiastic affirmative. "Frag, yeah!"

Ambulon caught Hacksaw’s wink as they walked out. He didn’t bother to hold back a little smile of his own.


	12. Riptide

Riptide couldn’t believe this was happening. It just didn’t compute. Or rather, it did compute, but wow. Just wow.

Vector Sigma, the way Ambulon had looked at him back there? Wow. And he could have sworn he heard his fans going, but he couldn’t be sure because his own fans were so heavy-duty. When was the last time somebody had cycled on because of him, anyway? Never, that’s when.

But now? Now they were definitely looking for somewhere to make out, Riptide was eighty percent sure of it, and if Ambulon didn’t change his mind, this was totally happening, and _holy Primus below, Ambulon just grabbed his hand to hurry him along!_

This was the best day of Riptide’s life.

Ambulon settled for a supply closet a little ways down an unpopulated hall. It was a tight fit, but they squeezed inside.

Riptide barely managed to close the door before Ambulon was plastered to his front, running deft hands all over his frame. In close quarters, it was easier to hear the echo of his fans running alongside Riptide’s, and it was even easier to tell his partner’s current state by the heat of his plating where it pressed up against him.

"You're allowed to touch me back, you know," Ambulon murmured dryly, stretching an arm to trail his fingers along Riptide's crest.

Oh. Right. Oh, right!

Riptide moved his hands to the seams along Ambulon's sides. He heard a hitched vent at the contact and grinned down at his partner before sliding his fingers between armor and joint. He must have done something right, because Ambulon suddenly lunged up and sealed his mouth over Riptide's. Holy scrap.

He tried to maintain coherent thought and reciprocate, but wow. Every bit of his attention cycled down to the warmth of Ambulon's lips on his and the little static jolts where they connected. A sharp denta caught his lip, and he winced at the unexpected albeit slight pain. Ambulon mumbled what might have been an apology and moved to his neck, kissing and nipping and licking at the cabling. Riptide groaned and tugged him up a bit so he could reach better.

The door opened. Light flooded in. They froze.

Riptide didn’t dare turn his head to see who had discovered them. Whoever it was, he made a shocked noise and hurriedly closed the door again. The poor mech wasn’t going to forget this in a hurry.

At the thought, a chuckle worked its way past Riptide’s intake. He quickly checked himself—getting caught in a compromising situation wasn’t funny to everyone—but then Ambulon rumbled his own laugh in response. So he wasn’t embarrassed, or if he was, he was hiding it.

Emboldened, Riptide ran his hands down Ambulon’s waist to his hips and tilted his head to brush their mouths together again. Ambulon accepted his kiss and returned it hungrily. The sheer want in his EM field could have melted Riptide then and there with its intensity.

It felt good to be wanted.


	13. Ambulon

On the way to another mess hall date, Ambulon found himself and Riptide bombarded with attention. It was less than comfortable to feel all the stares as they headed down the hall, but at the same time, he couldn’t help noting that the more eyes that were on him, the more that the officers would hear about his compliance and development, and the closer (in theory) he’d get to full Autobot status.

A click-whistle from one mech. A clankcall from another. A suggestive joke here, and a couple of sniggers there. News sure spread fast. It made him wonder who had stumbled upon them and whether he or one of his confidantes was the chief gossip.

Beside him, Riptide’s EM field projected embarrassment at another crass comment, but Ambulon reached out with his own as it brimmed with amusement, and the embarrassment was quickly overpowered by pride. He could practically see his partner’s chestplate puff out.

What took him by surprise was the blue hand shooting out to take hold of his own. Riptide was studiously looking everywhere but at him, a huge grin taking over his pink face. Ambulon smirked and twined their fingers together. It gave him a triumphant feeling. Afterburn didn’t know what he was talking about. This wasn’t some sort of redeeming process: this was Ambulon taking charge of his life, and what struck him as even better was seeing that it was the same for Riptide.

Yeah, they were together, and everyone else could go and stand in an acid rainfall.

Riptide let go of his hand when they got to the energon dispensers in order to pick up their rations. His field still emanated pride with a touch of something sort of jittery that Ambulon was coming to think of as a constant undertone to what made him Riptide.

They ended up heading for the end of a longer table next to a pair of mecha who’d started waving at them the moment they entered the mess hall.

"Friends of yours?" Ambulon muttered on the way over.

Riptide shrugged. "I've met Blindside and Traipse, but I haven't, like, met them. Not really."

Ah. He recognized those names. They were his supervisor's friends. How charming.

"Ambulon, right?" one mech greeted them. "Shortfuse was hoping he'd get to introduce us. I'm Traipse, and this is—"

"Blindside," his much shorter companion finished. "How's it going, Riptide? I saw Current and Rudder in here earlier. Rudder said something about a supply closet tryst..." If he had a mouth under that faceplate, Ambulon was sure it was smirking.

"Canoodling in a dark corner of a military base," Traipse drawled. His doorwings flicked repeatedly, amusement drizzled through his open EM field. "Remind you of anyone, Brights?"

Blindside shoved him with a chortle. "Shut up." He turned his attention back to Riptide and Ambulon. "Take a seat, mecha! Let's have some cross-unit bonding time, eh?"

Ambulon realized that Riptide was looking to him for a decision. Huh. He shrugged and slid into place opposite Traipse. Riptide scooted in next to him, slipping his free arm around Ambulon's waist before starting on his fuel.

All this contact was making Ambulon feel almost overcharged on physical proximity. It made him a little nervous about his upcoming work and recharge shifts. He had no idea how getting this field fix would affect his attacks; hopefully it would stave them off for a while, but what if it made them worse? Or triggered them sooner upon withdrawal?

Blindside, he realized belatedly, was addressing them.

"—long are you stationed on Checcor?"

Riptide's grip on him tightened as the Hydrobot answered. "Aquatics are kind of a must-have with all this water, so my squad's here until that changes. Doesn't seem all that likely."

"I'm not sure," Ambulon admitted when they looked at him. "Command doesn't really keep me in the loop on anything. For all I know, they'll ship me out tomorrow."

"The uncertainty must be difficult."

"It took some getting used to, but then..." He hesitated, but when no one pressed for him to finish the sentence, the silence drew more words from him anyway. "Nothing in my life has been certain. Part of being created for war, I guess."

"And wartime in general," Traipse sighed.

Blindside set a hand on his shoulder. "So what are you two going to do if one of you is transferred?"

"Huh?" Riptide's confused head-tilt was, frankly, adorable, but Blindside's question was not.

"Well, starting a relationship is kind of risky," the dark mech elaborated, "in the middle of a war and all, you know?"

Traipse gave a full-frame shudder. "Primus, we had fragging well better be past the middle by now. Don't say things like that!"

"So after hearing you'd got together, I just wanted to check in and make sure you have an idea of what you're in for. Just because this slagshow's all you newbuilds have as a frame of reference—" Blindside was cut off by a well-placed elbow from his companion. "—sorry. The point is to have some sort of idea of the future, you know?"

Ambulon didn't appreciate his assumption about their origins, nor that of their ages. Before he could fire off a retort, Riptide made a considering noise and let go of him to lean forward, his expression earnest.

"I guess that's true, but it's been four million years already, and who knows how much longer the fighting'll last? It seems stupid to let the chaos get in the way when we've had so long to adjust. We've got to set it aside sometime, right?"

That was unexpectedly insightful. Riptide was full of surprises.

He was also missing Blindside's point: the same point which Ambulon had been factoring in all along.

There was no such thing as a future for them. It would be a miracle for either one of them to survive the war, let alone both, and besides, it wasn't like they were serious, whatever that looked like in wartime.

He said as much to the group. "Anyway, we're not looking at the Four Acts or anything like that. It's better if we keep it casual."

Riptide nodded agreement and sat back, returning his arm to its new home around Ambulon's waist. Ambulon expanded his field to give his partner a taste of his social exhaustion. He'd gone well out of his comfort zone, engaging multiple people for this long. Riptide's field carried the same jittery undertone as before, but over it pulsed a contradicting sense of confidence that was definitely new. It soothed the frazzled ends of Ambulon's field. All this in a few seconds, too. He was torn from his focus on working out the various layers in Riptide's field by Traipse's reply.

"If it works for you," the Praxian said with a smile, "I can get behind that. Not that my opinion should matter to either of you."

It really shouldn't, and yet.

Blindside raised his cube, red optics brightening. "Here's to keeping it casual!"


	14. Riptide

After the "double date," as he'd thought of it, with Blindside and Traipse, and a long solo shift of watching absolutely nothing interesting happen on the northeast wing's security cameras, Riptide was relieved to be heading for his unit's barrack for a shift of recharge.

Talking to the Amica pair had been fun. He wasn't used to being invited into conversation like that, but he really liked it. Swapping stories, debating ideas, even the awkward near-vetting Blindside had put him and Ambulon through had come so naturally. Riptide felt good about that. Really good. He'd managed to surprise himself in there. Normally he felt so awkward and clumsy talking to people, but he hadn't fragged it up this time. Not even a little.

In the midst of his reflection, he was pinged with a request to open a comm line.

Ambulon's designation was attached to it. He opened the line.

"Hey, Ambs, what's up?"

_"Are you going to recharge?"_

"Yeah, why?"

_"Which barrack?"_

"Fourteenth. Why do you ask?"

No answer. He thought he could hear heavy vents on the other end, but it was hard to tell.

"Ambs? You there?"

The comm line closed.

Riptide picked up his pace. He found Ambulon standing outside Barrack Fourteen when he arrived. The medic was staring at nothing in particular, his usually sharp gaze unfocused and his expression haggard. Riptide hurried to his side.

"What's going on? Are you okay?"

Ambulon's optics reset. He looked at Riptide standing in front of him... and promptly tipped forward. Riptide caught his shoulders to steady him. His vents were short and ragged.

"Ambs?"

His voice was as rough as steel-wool and shot through with static. "I... I need—" He shook his head. “This was—this was a... bad idea. I should…” Ambulon started to step away, but his hands were still clutching Riptide's upper arms, so he went nowhere. “‘M sorry... need to get control of... just wanted to... don't mean to bother…”

Well, color Riptide confused. "You're—you're not bothering me. I mean, I'm a little worried now, but... what's wrong?"

"Never mind... if I could just... sorry... stupid idea..." He still hadn't let go. If anything, he was holding tighter.

"Can I help?" Riptide glanced at the door, thinking back to their brief comm. "Do you... do you want to come in?"

Ambulon sagged against him. His EM field flickered in and out of range. It was an indecipherable mess. “ _Please_.”

None of his squadmates were in their barrack. The schedule had most of them either refueling or on watch duty for the time being. Good. Riptide didn't mind Current and the others razzing him about his relationship, but whatever was going on right now seemed... personal.

He sat Ambulon down on the edge of his berth and took a seat beside him. Ambulon pressed into his side, field still flickering. It was hard to get a clear sense of any one element, but the chaotic fluctuations alone seemed like good cause for alarm.

"Okay, Ambs, you're kind of freaking me out. Say something?" Talking wasn't working. "What can I do?" No answer. Ambulon just scooted even closer.

He cautiously reached around his partner and pulled him into an embrace. Cautiously meant taking it as slow as possible because if this went south, he might not get a chance to try anything else. Most mecha didn't respond well to physical contact during an episode. Rudder had nearly taken off Current's head the first (and only) time the sub had tried it. That said, physical contact seemed to be what Ambulon was trying to get, so it could be a relatively safe bet.

It paid off. Ambulon accepted the hug and somehow wriggled his way onto Riptide's lap in the process, legs folding around his waist and arms wrapping around his neck like a full-body stasis cuff. His EM field started to smooth out as he pressed his face against Riptide's neck, and an explanation arrived in bits and pieces mumbled into the cables.

“‘s a spark problem... acts up sometimes... just need to be close... fields are good... sorry to bother..."

Riptide ran a hand down his back, repeating the motion a few times. "Don't worry, Ambs, it's okay—uh, can I get a warning first next time?"

Ambulon stiffened, and Riptide thought he'd said something wrong, but then the medic pulled away just enough to look at his face, eyes wide and mouth forming a tiny “o.”

"Yes," he murmured, pressing a kiss to Riptide's neck, then another, trailing kisses along the way as he returned his helm to its resting place. Riptide shivered at the sensation of light touches to sensitive cables.

It didn't seem like Ambulon was in any shape to leave tonight, and that was just fine with him. One night of recharging on his back kibble wouldn't kill him. He shifted his hold on his partner before lying back on the berth, Ambulon draped over him as a comforting, solid weight.

The yellow glow of his optics dimmed more and more until they finally offlined. Good. He needed rest.

Riptide tilted his head just enough to brush his lips against one prong of Ambulon's chevron.

"Sleep tight, Ambs."


	15. Ambulon

Upon waking, the first thing Ambulon noticed was that his spark wasn’t aching. Odd. He remembered having an attack after his shift, and he ought to be still feeling the effects—he checked his chronometer—six hours later.

The second and third things he noticed were the EM field surrounding his own and his position lying on top of Riptide. _Oh, right._ He'd sought out his partner's company in hopes of sating his spark.

Ambulon couldn't decide which was more surprising: that it seemed to have worked or that Riptide had allowed him to stay.

The fourth thing he noticed was that Riptide was awake and watching him. The Hydrobot had an odd expression on his face. Not unpleasant, just... odd. He shifted his arm from where it lay across Ambulon's back down to Ambulon's waist and reset his vocalizer.

"Hi."

"'lo," Ambulon mumbled.

"Doing better?"

"Yes."

"You, uh, seemed like you were in pretty bad shape." Concern pulsed in his field.

Ambulon tucked his face closer to Riptide's collar plating. "I was," he admitted. _Weak._

"Does that—does that happen a lot?"

It stung to divulge his vulnerability, but at the same time, it had been so long since he'd confided in anyone. "Often enough."

Riptide's arm tightened around him for a moment, like a comforting squeeze. "And this helps?"

Ambulon offlined his optics and savored the feeling of their chestplates pressed together, their fields intermingling, the little dents and scratches that his fingers ran over on Riptide's shoulder kibble, the sheer physical closeness of their arrangement. "It does."

"Then you can come do this any time, okay?"

His optics flashed online. He stared at the Hydrobot's earnest face, floored. "I—okay. All right."

Riptide maneuvered them into a more upright arrangement sitting on the edge of the berth. "When's your next shift?"

Ambulon checked his chronometer again. "Twenty minutes. You?"

"Same. Lucky break, huh?"

Lucky indeed. Something told Ambulon that luck had very little to do with their schedules' convenient syncing. He released his hold on Riptide and clambered off of the berth to help his partner up. "I'll say. Should we head for the mess hall?"

Riptide grinned and took his hand. "It's a date!"

"Slagging right, it is." Ambulon didn't hold back his own smile.

On the way down the hall, a group of aquatic-alt mecha fell into step alongside them. Riptide held Ambulon's hand tighter as he greeted them. "What’s up?"

"I was hoping to score an introduction," the dark gray and blue mech answered with a smirk. "Since all we've gotten so far has been hearsay, you know?"

Riptide laughed nervously. "Right, right! Um, Ambs, these are some of my squadmates: Cold Front, Sink, and Topsail." He pointed to each as he said their names. "And, guys, this is Ambulon."

The tallest one of the trio, Sink, barely glanced up from his datapad. "Sure, whatever."

Topsail, on the other hand, looked Ambulon up and down with a critical gleam to his optics. "Huh," was all that he said, his expression near-unreadable thanks to his mask.

Cold Front elbowed Riptide, still smirking. "You know, Rip, a little warning before bringing a guest to the barrack would be nice."

Riptide's field flared with embarrassment. Pride still tinged its edges, but he was clearly invested in his squad leader's opinion, never mind the sheer unprofessionalism of his unit dynamics. "I, uh... heh."

Ambulon squeezed his hand. "My bad. I'll make sure to call ahead next time."

"Your bad?" Topsail snickered. "Trust me, you're doing a—"

"Anyway," Riptide cut in loudly, "we'd better get going, gotta fuel up before our shifts and all that!" He quickened his pace, forcing Ambulon into a trot in order to keep up with his long legs.

"Are you still on for the you-know-what?" Cold Front called after them.

"The what?" Ambulon whispered.

Riptide tossed a thumbs-up in Cold Front's direction. "Nothing important!" he replied as they continued on. "It's a Hydrobot thing—you had to be there to get it." His field radiated innocence. Ambulon didn't buy it for a second.

"You're all up to something, aren't you."

"Well, I mean, aren't we always? All of us? Like, we all have things to do, right? Goals and things... and stuff!"

Ambulon shook his head, chuckling softly. "Save us a table; I'll grab our rations."

"Yessir!" Riptide seemed relieved by the subject change. Ambulon shuddered to think what his unit would get up to later. If it was anything like the stories Riptide had already shared with him, they'd be in for it when command found out.

He retrieved their energon and headed back to join Riptide at the corner table. "Good choice," he commented, sliding one cube to his partner before taking a seat across from him.

"You didn't seem too comfortable at the big tables," the Hydrobot explained, "so I figured I ought to try to get us at the smaller ones as much as possible."

Ambulon pulsed appreciation through his field. "That's kind of you, but don't worry about it. I don't mind being in the open."

"Are you sure? You sort of hunch when we sit out there, and you seem on edge."

"I'm always on edge, Riptide," Ambulon pointed out. "It doesn't matter where I'm sitting." It was a little jarring to him as he realized how well his frame language had been read.

Riptide bit his lower lip. "I—yeah, I guess with everything you—yeah. That makes sense." His posture sagged.

Slag, he wasn't meant to feel bad about it. Ambulon reached across the table and grasped the Hydrobot's hand. "I don't mean to belittle the gesture," he apologized. "It means a lot that you're trying to help me feel safe."

Riptide's mouth suddenly turned up into that grin he'd been missing. "So earlier, back in Fourteen...?"

Ambulon smiled wryly. "You know, that was the safest I've felt in... a long time." Possibly ever, but he was revealing too much already. With all he'd confided in Riptide so far, this might be the weakest he'd ever felt as well. Funny how that coincided with the most secure he'd ever felt.

They drank their fuel, still holding hands, and it struck Ambulon that he was content. The whole scene was just... nice. Normal, even, or it would be if he had a frame of reference for normality.

Best of all, though, it was being observed by Firebolt and Afterburn from across the mess hall.


	16. Riptide

Riptide met up with his squadmates next to the communication hub. Current gave him the rundown on the plan as they began a leisurely walk to the east hangar.

"Sink's going to cover the security shift for you and Rudder, and Washout opted out, so he's covering for me and Topsail in comms. Cold Front went ahead to get the stuff in position for the rest of us. We just have to open the pipe and keep everybody out of the hangar until it's full. Topsail gets to run back here and use the intercom when we're ready to announce our water party."

Riptide grinned. "This is gonna be epic!"

Topsail's wings fluttered. "After the fake-energon prank, this is the perfect change of tone." He winked at Current. “Hopefully there’ll be less purging this time.”

"That's how the wild waves roll," Rudder chuckled. "Remember, mecha, if we get caught, tell them it's a morale boost for the whole base!"

"Which it is," Riptide added. "Everybody ought to get the chance to unwind for a bit."

"Speaking of morale boosts..." Current beamed his best _how you doin'?_ face at Riptide. Uh-oh. "See, I stopped by the barrack earlier to grab my spare paint, and imagine my surprise to find you having a sleepover without us!"

"Not that we can blame you for taking an opportunity like that," Topsail interrupted, winking. "I'd give him a solid seven. That's about seven higher than you, for the record."

"Wow, thanks," Riptide replied sarcastically. "You've never made that joke before." He tried to squash down the irritation at hearing Topsail rank his partner. Ambulon was better than the hydroplane's dumb "mesh market" rankings.

"Hey, your berth buddy doesn't seem to mind, so who cares? You two looked awfully tired out." Topsail's subtext voice should have been arrested for public indecency.

"It wasn't like that!" Riptide yelped. "I just—he just—we were just—he needed the company, okay? That's all."

"You cuddled?" Cold Front said, appearing from around the corner ahead. "That's so sweet!"

"Shut up!" he stammered.

Topsail elbowed him with a snigger. "Our little Riptide's all grown up and snuggling Decepticons!"

Riptide whirled around and socked him in the arm. "He's not a 'Con!"

His squadmate didn't even flinch. "Aw, we're just messing with you, Rip."

Current slung an arm around his shoulders. "So defensive. Are you turning soft on us, mech?"

"Yeah, he is," Rudder interjected. "When's the Conjunx Ritus?"

Even Riptide had to laugh at that one.

At the hangar, Cold Front sent Riptide to open the pipe cover while the rest of the group spaced themselves throughout the hall to play interference with passersby. The cover had a huge wheel that had to be turned in order to swing open.

What he hadn't accounted for was the pressure of the water he was letting in. The deluge crashed into him, sweeping him off his feet. He barely had time to react before it carried him headfirst into a wall.

And headfirst meant that his helm crest bore the brunt of the attack.

His very sensitive helm crest.

Riptide blacked out.


	17. Ambulon

Ambulon's relatively quiet shift in the medibay was interrupted by a visit from his partner. Topsail and a huge submersible-alt mech helped him into the medibay, unceremoniously deposited him onto the nearest medical berth, and walked out, laughing all the way. Riptide just leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and cradling his helm in his hands as they left. He was clearly in pain, but he glanced up and grinned sheepishly as Ambulon approached.

"You gonna kiss it better, doc?"

"I'm not a doctor," Ambulon huffed, tugging the Hydrobot's hands away from his head to assess the damage. "I've barely got the credentials to do more than field repairs."

Ooh. That dent looked painful. A helm crest like Riptide's was packed with sensors.

"That's good enough for—" Riptide yelped when his fingers ghosted over the injury.

"Sorry. I'll need you to turn down your sensors for this."

Riptide stilled for a moment, then nodded. "Done."

"What the frag were you doing to get this, anyway?" Ambulon asked, retrieving the tools he'd need to fix the damage.

"Well, uh, we were in the hangar, and, uh, I opened the water pipe without adjusting the pressure valve first?"

Vent in. Vent out. "You what?"

"Heh."

Ambulon shook his head as he began repairs. "Idiot. Honestly, the whole pack of you—don't you think we have anything better to do than patch you up after stupid stunts like this? We're at fragging war; everyone in the base has better things to spend their time on than fragging pranks. What could possibly—"

"Oh, hi, Clamp Down." Riptide said suddenly.

Ambulon glanced over and nodded to the head of base security. "Sir." He tweaked another wire back into place.

Riptide grimaced as a part of his sensory network began transmitting again.

"Almost done," Ambulon assured him quietly. "Hold still." Another wire needed soldering. He stepped away to find a soldering iron, and Clamp Down moved forward to stand opposite Riptide with his arms crossed.

"Maintenance duty?" the Hydrobot volunteered hesitantly.

Clamp Down's frown deepened. "It looks like you've already felt consequences. Your co-conspirators, on the other hand, are going to warm a brig cell for a day. I've updated your schedule to take on some of the shifts they'll miss."

"Oh." That seemed pretty lenient to Ambulon. Riptide looked like he agreed and wasn't going to question his good fortune. "Okay."

"When your repairs are done, finish your shift in security and then report to Hyperion."

"Yes, sir."

Ambulon reattached the last wire and popped out the dent in the crest's outer plate. "There we go. You'll need to turn on and recalibrate those sensors now." He leaned forward and kissed Riptide's forehelm, doing his best to look like he was ignoring the officer's presence.

See, he could be a sweet little Autobot if he wanted. Watch him lavish attention on his partner.

The sickly feeling of his thoughts surprised Ambulon. Maybe showing off wasn't such a fantastic idea. At least Riptide didn't mind. His field expanded, expressing warmth and gratitude. Ambulon focused on that feeling as he pulled away. At least he was getting something from this. At least he could feel the safety and comfort of another mech's presence.

It sucked exhaust that he’d do this for any other reason.


	18. Riptide

With Cold Front in the brig, Riptide had to take over his assignment showing a group of new arrivals around the base. It was a good thing that Hyperion was supervising the task, because he had no idea what he was doing. After the mess hall and the training center, they made their way to the medibay, where he was glad to see Ambulon on shift as well, restocking some cabinets in the back.

"Hey, Ambs!" he called, waving at his partner before turning back to the group. "So, uh, this is the medibay, our head doctor's name is Shortfuse, it doesn't look like he's on shift right now but you'll probably meet him later... uh..." He trailed off.

Ambulon had appeared at his side, slipping an arm around his waist and nodding at the new arrivals. "He'll be happy to meet with any of you whenever you like. Be sure to tell him whether you have any medical training; he needs to know who can be called on in emergencies."

A heavily-armored mech in the back raised a hand. "What are the rules for visiting patients?"

"I imagine that would depend on individual patients' conditions," Ambulon replied, "but Shortfuse is fairly lenient on that sort of thing, should the occasion arise."

Hyperion sent the group on to the communications hub after a few more questions and answers, saying that he had some things to discuss with Ambulon and that he would catch up. Riptide gave his medic a quick kiss on the cheek before following his charges, but when Ambulon smiled up at him, something was off about his expression.

Riptide stopped just outside the medibay door and stepped around the corner to listen in.

"I just wanted to let you know," Hyperion was saying, "that we're all impressed with your dedication. You've certainly taken Afterburn's advice to spark, and if I may be blunt, none of us expected dating, of all things, to improve your connections as well as it has. You've progressed so much in the past weeks that we'll be discussing the merit of lifting your probationary status far sooner than planned."

"That's good to hear, sir." Ambulon's tone was flat.

"I've taken a closer look at your file in preparation," the personnel administrator continued, "and I have to say, your skill set would be a prime fit for a managerial position once you've reached full Autobot status. Keep proving us right, and I think you'll make it in no time."

"Thank you, sir."

Riptide's audials were burning. He cringed away as the officer passed his hiding spot, but his mind raced. Something made a crashing sound in the medibay. The surprise carried him back through the door despite his confusion slowly forming into a coherent conclusion that he did not like one bit.

Ambulon knelt beside a fallen tray, muttering to himself as he picked up fallen tools. "Ridiculous way of running things... it just figures... the one thing that convinced them... would be this farce... scrap-brained glitches couldn't be convinced by two years of service... it just had to be dating..."

Riptide reset his vocalizer with a loud _click._ Ambulon froze. He looked up, and his optics widened at the sight of Riptide standing in the doorway. Riptide narrowed his own optics in response.

"So this, this thing between us, was, what, just a way to get ahead?" he asked, trying and failing to keep his voice neutral.

Ambulon climbed to his feet, still holding his handful of tools. "You heard..."

"No slag. You were _using_ me?"

"I—it was a stupid suggestion from—they didn't think I was connecting with other Autobots enough, so he said I should—and it was stupid, but—"

"So you were trying to prove you were 'Bot enough by getting with a 'Bot and showing it off at every chance you got?"

That sounded... really dumb. Ambulon didn't do dumb. Did he? Riptide didn't know what to think. He was just angry at this point.

Ambulon winced. "It didn't sound quite that idiotic in my head."

"Well, congratulations. You just proved the opposite of what you were going for." Riptide crossed his arms. "Way to do the 'Con thing."

Ambulon's optics narrowed and dimmed. He turned away in silence.

Riptide made a frustrated noise. "I'm out of here."

He stopped in the hall to compose himself. He could try to process his storming emotions later; right now he had a tour to catch up with.

Frag.


	19. Ambulon

Ambulon was running out of tasks to complete in the medibay. He was scrubbing the countertops when Shortfuse arrived for the next shift.

"Didn't we clean those yesterday?" his supervisor queried.

Ambulon tossed his rag into the bin. "What else needs to be done, then?"

Shortfuse gave him a scrutinizing look. He must have seen through to the desperate plea for mind-numbing work, because his next question was "What happened?"

"He's right."

"Is he?" Shortfuse's tone was as neutral as they came.

"I was using him."

"That so?" No opinions offered, no clarification asked. He sounded content to wait for Ambulon to figure his own thoughts out.

Ambulon sank onto the edge of a berth. "It didn't seem so bad until he said it."

"He didn't take it well, then."

"Of course not! He was furious, and for good reason."

"Good reason," Shortfuse echoed. "What about your reason?"

"I'm not even sure of my own reasoning!" Ambulon burst out. "The more I think about it, the less sense it makes! Why follow Afterburn's ridiculous suggestion? Why treat it like a means of rebelling when it was literally doing just as he said? Why think of rebelling, anyway? Am I trying to be more like an Autobot? Isn't everyone just a mech? Why would there be some sort of moral high ground in acting like an Autobot? What the frag is an Autobot supposed to act like, anyway? You're all different! There's no defining characteristic of—of fairness or kindness or what have you, we're all just mecha! How does my half-assembled, un-thought-out decision constitute 'the 'Con thing' to do? Doesn't he see that I just wanted... wanted... Frag, what do I even want?"

"Good question."

Ambulon clenched and unclenched his fists repeatedly, chasing the elusive notion. "I—I want everyone to leave me alone. But I also don't want that. I... I just..." It got away. "The whole thing was fake," he muttered. "He was right. It didn't mean anything."

Shortfuse placed a hand on his arm. "The isolation ward is empty right now. It should be nice and quiet, and I can keep everyone from disturbing you. You need to recharge."

"I—"

"Don't test me, Ambulon. Any fool could see it. Go rest."

"...yes, sir."


	20. Riptide

Riptide hated sanitation duty. Normally, a double shift of mopping floors was like capital punishment to him. This time, he was almost grateful for the distraction.

As he got to the end of the hall, his attention was drawn to the squadmate sidling up to him. "Hey, Washout."

"Riptide! Listen, I know you're really taking up a lot of the slack with the whole prank thing—"

"We know it was you who tipped him off."

"—and it's really appreciated, but I have a sanitation shift of my own coming up around the time your double finishes, and I was hoping I could beg a favor, just this once—"

"Meaning for the sixtieth time."

"—just this one time, see, because I promised Rapid Run I'd be at this get-together—"

"Sure, I'll do it."

Washout stopped, incredulous. "You will?"

"Yeah. I'm kind of looking for distractions right now."

"From what?" Classic Washout. He was a worse gossip than Rudder.

Eh, what the heck. "I broke up with Ambulon." After all, Ambs had had no problem publicizing their relationship so that Command could judge his performance.

"The 'Con?"

"He's not a—whatever. Yeah, him."

Riptide spilled their whole fight. Washout's reactions were positively gleeful, which wasn't appreciated. As the brief tale drew to a close, he could see his fellow Hydrobot cuing up an ' _I told you so,_ ' but he had a confession of his own to make that had formed as he related the story.

"It hurt. Finding out it wasn't real."

Washout made a face and stepped back. The Hydrobots didn't really talk about the soft stuff. It was an unspoken rule, but Riptide had accidentally opened a floodgate.

"I was getting too attached anyway. Even if he hadn't been lying, it was still supposed to stay casual, and I wasn't exactly doing a great job with that. So it hurts. A lot. And I didn't want to think about it, but now I am, and it sucks, and I'm angry as slag, but I can't stop wishing that I hadn't overheard. If I had just gone on being oblivious..."

"The glitch was using you!"

"Maybe I was okay with that!" Riptide retorted. He paused and replayed the words in his mind.

Washout made a disgusted face. "What in the Pit is wrong with you?"

Everything, it felt like.

"I don't know." Riptide met his squadmate's glare. His voice broke as he repeated it. "I don't know."


	21. Ambulon

Ambulon was awakened from a fitful recharge by the door to the isolation ward crashing open. Light flooded in as his optics onlined, and Shortfuse was at his side, taking hold of his arms and pulling him up off of the medical berth.

"Sorry to do this to you, but it's an emergency."

He stumbled along behind the head doctor into the medibay's main area. The room was full of injured Autobots. Shortfuse, assisted by the big, green new arrival, began transporting the most severely wounded patients into the surgery and the isolation ward for space. Trapper was gathering surgical instruments.

Ambulon took charge of the remaining patients. He ordered mecha to find a berth or chair to sit on, triaging as quickly as he could and sending those with the worst injuries to sit closer to the other medics' domains in case they found room to bring in the non-life-threatening but still difficult cases. Once he was able to pause and look around, the situation was looking much better handled.

The surgery light was on, and the reserve field medics had shown up to tend to the wounded as well. Ambulon headed for the nearest patient and got to work.

Three hours later, he held a shaking Shortfuse as the surviving mecha recounted their story.

They hadn't found Blindside's body.

Charge—the new arrival who'd lent a hand and a surprising albeit still limited amount of medical training in the crisis—moved in to take over his care, and Ambulon passed the yellow medic off wordlessly.

What if it hadn't been Blindside on that mission? What if it had been—no. He couldn't think about that. There were still some patch-ups to see to.

He pulled Traipse aside to finish welding. It was his patient's blank stare that unnerved him the most.

"Traipse," he tried to get the Praxian's attention, "look at me. You're in shock. I need to—"

"He's gone," Traipse whispered. "Just... gone. No chance to—no—no—"

"Hey. Look at me. Focus. I need to reach your doorwing. Can you let me do that?" No reply. Primus. "It's for your own good, Traipse. Straighten this joint."

Slowly, shakily, he straightened his doorwing out so that Ambulon could reach the patch.

"It should've been me," he whispered. "It should've—"

"Don't talk like that. You couldn't have known." The bluntness of his voice, Ambulon hoped, masked the disturbed feeling that roiled in his spark. What if it hadn’t been Blindside out there?

What if it had been—and the last thing they’d said to one another was—

Oh.


	22. Riptide

"I had a brilliant idea while we were doing brig time,” Cold Front announced. “See, we could get our hands on as many empty cubes as possible, fill them up with water, and—"

"That's terrific," Riptide declared, barely listening. "Let's do that." In his peripheral vision, he watched Cold Front and Current exchange a significant look.

Current tried his luck. "You know, today might be a good day to break out some of the engex in Rudder's contraband stash."

"Sounds great."

"Rip..." Cold Front lost his nerve and trailed off.

Current ex-vented. "You've got to let it go, Rip. You've got better things to do than mope, and we've all got better things to do than watch you mope."

Riptide ducked his helm, embarrassed. "I'm fine. Really."

"Liar."

He kicked Current under the table.

The submersible barked a laugh. "That the best you got?"

Cold Front was staring at something over Riptide's shoulder. He nudged Current and jerked his helm in that direction. Current's expression darkened. Naturally, Riptide turned his head.

He regretted it right away.

"Ignore him," Cold Front muttered.

Easier said than done. Riptide couldn't keep himself from glancing Ambulon's way every few seconds.

The medic collected his ration from the dispensary and started in their direction, then stopped. His gaze darted around the room. Riptide stared him down until their eyes met. Ambulon hesitated another moment, then continued toward their table.

"Is this spot taken?" he asked, nodding at the almost completely deserted bench Riptide sat on.

His squadmates started to refuse, but Riptide shrugged and looked away. "Go ahead."

It didn't mean anything. Ambulon was probably just seeking out familiar faces. He'd been fresh off the shuttle when they met, after all.

Right.

The medic sat down, leaving a fair amount of space between them. Riptide focused on refueling and tried to ignore the mimed argument between his squadmates. When it got too intense, he glared at them over the top of his empty cube in an attempt to shut it down. They weren't making this any easier.

Ambulon finished his energon and set his cube down with a quiet tok. He cycled his vents and turned to Riptide. "There's something I should say to you. Alone."

Slag.

Current slapped his hands on the table. "Whatever you've got to say, you can say it in front of us!"

Ambulon didn't even look at the angry Hydrobot. His gaze was focused entirely on Riptide. "We can talk here if you want, but after... I thought you would prefer somewhere private.

That was actually pretty thoughtful. Riptide vented and stood up. "Okay."

Cold Front got to his feet and walked around the table to whisper in Riptide's audial. "You don't have to go. Say the word and he's out of here."

Riptide shook his head. "I need this," he replied quietly.

His squad leader grimaced, but he yielded to Riptide's decision and sat down again. Current was still glowering at Ambulon, but his posture had relaxed. Riptide waited for the medic to get up before he headed for the door. Ambulon trailed behind him, EM field drawn tight and unreadable.

He hated that. Ambulon had been loosening up so much before the fight. Riptide wanted nothing so much as to pull him into his arms and just hold him tight. He was ashamed of himself for thinking like that. He was furious at Ambulon for, well, the whole thing, but he couldn't help that he still wanted him. Couldn’t he?

And every time he glanced backward, Ambulon looked so small and anxious that the urge to comfort him only grew.

Why did this have to be so complicated? Could he uncomplicate it? ‘Listen, Ambs, I know it was all fake on your side, but I like you a lot and I’d like to keep it going…’ Oh, Primus, that was the worst here-shoot-my-fuel-pump-too thought he’d had all day—and he’d had some stupid thoughts today.

He should be angry. He _was_ angry. But… Riptide glanced back again. If it had to end, then it would end right. No more hard feelings.

Since _no more feelings_ was apparently out of the question.


	23. Ambulon

Ambulon followed Riptide through the base in the direction of the Hydrobots' barrack. At this time in the shift schedule, no one was wandering the habitation hall. It was about as private as they'd get.

Riptide stopped outside the closed door and turned around. He was looking everywhere but directly at him. Ambulon's guilt grew. He fidgeted uncomfortably, the words he'd meant to say slipping from his mind.

The Hydrobot finally met his eyes. When he spoke, his tone was dull. "So, are you going to talk or what?"

Ambulon ex-vented. He dropped his gaze for a moment to collect his thoughts without being distracted by Riptide's flat expression.

"I'm sorry," he said at last. The words came easier after that, and he was able to look up again as he went on. "I shouldn't have used you like that, and I don't have a single reason for why I did. Beyond that, I was wrong to keep you in the dark about it. You deserved far better treatment than that, and I'm sorry."

"Good to know."

Ambulon bit his lip. "Riptide..."

Riptide grinned weakly. "No, really. Thanks for apologizing. You get to clear your conscience, and I get to... y'know. I get to let go."

"What if I don't want you to let go?" Ambulon blurted. His hand flew up to cover his mouth too late.

Riptide stared at him. "What if I don't want to let go?"

"Then..." Ambulon trailed off, lost.

Riptide grabbed hold of him and kissed him, the contact hard, hungry, crushing their mouths together.

After the shock wore off, Ambulon reciprocated, deepening the kiss and running his hands over the Hydrobot's skirt plating.

As they pulled apart, a tired laugh worked its way from Riptide's vocalizer.

"Primus, Ambs," he muttered affectionately, "we're a mess."

Ambulon tightened his grip on Riptide's waist. He could feel that jittery-excited-hopeful EM field again and expanded his own to let Riptide feel his own mix of anxious-eager-longing.

Riptide's dark mood had dissipated entirely in the span of a minute. Primus only knew what went on in that processor, Ambulon thought, his field pulsing fondness.

"How about a do-over?" Riptide asked. His optics glowed brighter. "We could take it from the top?"

Ambulon answered by moving his hands to either side of his partner's helm and kissing him again. MTOs so rarely got what they wanted, after all, and he’d never get to keep it.


	24. Riptide

They fell back together almost seamlessly in the following days. Riptide could hardly believe it, and like Pit was he going to pass up a chance to keep his partner. This time for real.

His squadmates' reactions to the news varied. Cold Front was relieved, probably because he didn't have to keep attempting to cheer Riptide up. Current was still simmering, but he seemed content to let Riptide sort it out himself. Sink, Topsail, and Rudder just sort of shrugged and moved on, but Washout... Well, Washout was just being his usual charming self. Gearshaft.

Riptide was seeing Ambulon off from Barrack Fourteen after a recharge shift. They kissed goodbye, and he could feel the goofy grin on his face as he watched the medic walk away down the hall. That was a fine chassis he'd gotten to snuggle. Ambulon's spark condition flare-ups were getting much milder, and he had attributed it to their frequent recharging together. Their recharge and fueling shifts were still synced up, and they'd taken full advantage of the shared free time. Even when they weren't alone in the Hydrobots' barrack.

Topsail sauntered up from behind him and leaned an elbow on his shoulder. "You know, Rip, if he spends much more time in here, we might as well declare him part of the squad," he smirked.

"He's certainly got the colors for it," Rudder commented from his corner berth, "but the poor guy isn't exactly watertight."

Washout harrumphed. "Neither is his loyalty. It was funny at first, but Primus, Riptide, don't you think this has gone on long enough?"

Riptide vented. "He's not a 'Con anymore, Washout," he retorted, doing his best to keep his voice even. "How many times do I have to tell you?"

Washout was a good meter shorter, but he still managed to get in Riptide's face. "He's already lied to you—who's to say he's not lying about that?"

"Oh, like you're one to talk about lying," Sink scoffed, for once not buried in his datapad. "Tell that to—"

"We were on a break!"

"Mm-hmm. Keep telling yourself that. Besides, Ambulon's been pretty thoroughly vetted. This isn't time for one of your conspiracy theories."

"It's not a theory. Once a 'Con, always a 'Con. You can't trust any of them."

Topsail groaned. "Can't you just let anybody be happy?"

"Not with a stupid 'Con!"

Riptide punched his squadmate in the midsection. Washout stumbled back, then swung a fist, landing a hit solidly on Riptide's face.

"Hey!" Cold Front shouted at them. "Break it up!"

Washout dodged his next swing. Riptide pulled his fist back for another, but the others were suddenly piling on to pull them apart. Even Sink got in the mix.

"Sit on them," Current ordered.

They were wrestled to the floor and pinned by several squadmates each: Cold Front and Sink on Riptide, Rudder and Topsail on Washout.

"We're here until one of you two apologizes or our next shift starts," Cold Front announced. "Whichever comes first."

Riptide turned his head to look sideways at everyone else. "I've got nothing to apologize for and you know it."

Sink folded his arms, relying on his considerable weight to keep Riptide's lower half pinned. "Until the shift it is."

"Wait!" Washout's yell was muffled, as Rudder wouldn't let his face up from the floor.

"We're listening," Topsail said. "Are you listening, Riptide?"

Riptide grinned viciously. "'M listening."

"...sorry."

"Louder," Rudder ordered, moving his hands to let Washout lift his head slightly.

"SORRY."

On his second _'sorry,'_ Washout shoved Rudder off of him, starting a tussle between the two of them and Topsail. Current whooped and jumped into the fray, releasing the tension of mere minutes previous. Cold Front patted Riptide's shoulder and climbed off of him along with Sink, who helped Riptide to his feet. The three of them joined the friendly brawl, and if the others were a little rougher on Washout than Riptide, well, he'd chalk it up to cognitive bias.

Taking Washout’s side just wasn’t something they did in this squad, and Riptide was glad for that.


	25. Ambulon

Riptide met Ambulon as he left the medibay for their refueling date. His attention was drawn to a scrape on the Hydrobot’s cheek, and he stopped still.

"What happened to you?"

Riptide shrugged. "Sparring with the squad. Nothing serious."

"Nothing serious, my aft. Go sit down." His partner obeyed easily, walking to the nearest medical berth and sitting down to wait. It was just a scrape, but Ambulon had discovered that his partner liked being fussed over, even in his blunt way.

He took a nearly-empty tube of paint nanites from a discard pile and straddled Riptide's lap "to reach his face more easily."

"You know this isn't standard treatment protocol," he grumbled, not bothering to hide a wry smile.

Riptide grinned. "I sure hope it isn't. All those patients with their grabby hands..." He demonstrated his point with a squeeze to Ambulon's waist.

"Close your mouth," Ambulon ordered. "I can't apply this with you moving around."

In the mess hall, Ambulon insisted upon getting fuel for them both. As he returned to their corner table, something flew across the hall, and Riptide ducked to avoid it. Ambulon looked around but couldn't see anyone who looked like they might have thrown the object.

"Are you all right?" he asked as he reached the table.

"'M fine," Riptide replied, fidgeting with something by his side.

"What was that thing?"

"Uh..."

Ambulon took the object from his partner. "A datapad? They threw a datapad at you?"

Riptide tried to swipe it back, but he held it out of the Hydrobot's reach.

"Maybe they want me to improve my literacy," Riptide suggested awkwardly. "C'mon, Ambs, who cares what it is? Let's put it away, okay?" There was a strain in his voice, a hint that he knew more than he was letting on.

Ambulon powered the datapad on.

The large glyphs taking up the screen were enough to make his innermost energon boil. He turned it over to Riptide and pointed at the hateful message.

"Is this what that scrape was over?"

"What? No! I'm serious, Ambs, it was just a sparring session." Riptide's gaze shifted from side to side. He rubbed at the back of his helm. "Okay, it might've started out related to the same subject... but it wasn't a big deal."

Ambulon glanced around again. "Who was it?" he demanded.

"Let it go, Ambs," Riptide pleaded. "They just want a reaction."

He was probably right. In Ambulon's experience, he was certainly right. That didn't mean he liked this, because he didn't. He didn't like this one bit.

_You threaten me, that's my problem. I'll let it slide, because I know you ain't got what it takes to make good on that threat. You threaten any of mine? That's when it gets to be your problem. See him? He's one of mine, and you went way past threatening. So now you've got a problem. And believe me when I say I'm going to be one Pit of a problem._

"Ambs?" Riptide seemed to be picking up on his agitation. "Come on, we just patched things up—don't get weird on me now."

"I won't," he mumbled, trying to push back the memory and at the same time get a handle on his instincts from years as a low-status Decepticon. The weak depended on the strong for protection, and very few of the strong were dependable or protective.

_You have to show them that you're not an easy target. They're not going to mess with you if you look like you're more trouble than it's worth._

_See, I'd say go straight for the heaviest hitter in the room, but let's face it, Legs, you're useless in a fight, so just pick the biggest mech you think you could take out. If you're lucky, it'll make you look a lot tougher than you are._

_Take it from me, kid. You don't gotta fight everyone when one example'll do. Make 'em think they know what you're made of, and that it's more than you really are._

_Aren't you lucky to have me around, Legs?_


	26. Riptide

Ambulon wasn’t handling the hate message well. See, this was why Riptide hadn’t told him about this stuff. The thing was, he'd been getting a lot of flak since they had made up. A lot of flak. Mostly from Washout and his Railbot cronies. The message was probably Railspike's idea.

Ambulon was looking around the mess hall like it was a battlefield. His posture had gone stiff. His eyes darted from table to table, but Riptide got the sense that he wasn't really seeing any of it.

"Ambs?"

His EM field had drawn tight against his frame, too. That wasn't a good sign. Ambulon almost always kept his field open. Said it balanced his spark, whatever that meant. The last time he'd been this withdrawn, he had been caught in a bad recall loop, and Riptide had had to wake him in an abrupt fashion. It hadn't been fun.

Riptide leaned out of his seat to wrap his arms around his partner's waist. He sat back down, pulling Ambulon into the seat beside him. It took some focus to project his EM field in one particular direction, but he did his best to surround him with the warm-and-fuzzy sort of feelings that were always present when he thought about the medic.

"It's okay," he murmured into his audial. "Nobody's going to hurt you. You're safe." He might not know what Ambulon remembered in times like this, but it wasn't hard to guess at what he needed to hear.

After a few minutes of whispered reassurance, Ambulon relaxed into Riptide's side. His field tentatively expanded, and when it met Riptide's own field, it unfolded to display the emotions that Riptide had come to expect: relief, shame, comfort, anxiety. He was all too familiar with the last one in his own projections.

As much as he wanted to understand what sort of experiences had such a strong effect on his partner, Riptide could tell that now wasn't a good time for that conversation. He slid Ambulon's ration cube over to him instead.

"Y'know, we've been doing this a lot, and I don't think we've ever talked about the stuff we do for fun."

Ambulon took a sip of his fuel. "There aren't many opportunities to explore one's interests in wartime."

"But there're things that you like to spend time doing, right?" Riptide pressed.

Ambulon hadn't had engex since long before he left the Decepticons. He said that he missed the bite of high-grade, but he'd never touch something distilled in a discarded tire ever again.

"Rudder's definitely got something better than that in his contraband stash," Riptide assured him. "It's not all bad."

"That's a relief. The taste was _not_ worth the charge." Ambulon made a face. "So what about you? Aside from pulling ridiculous pranks with your unit of morons and getting yourself into trouble, what do you like to do?"

Riptide bit his lip. He wasn't sure he wanted to admit it, but "I really like reading stories. There's this old datapad I've had for ages. It's got, like, four novels on it." He read and re-read them in a cycle in a pointless attempt to keep from getting tired of each. To that end, it almost helped that it took him nearly a year to read just one of them. If he could just get the stories without the drag of reading... oh, well.

They'd finished their fuel and were just sitting in silence now, watching mecha move about the mess hall.

Ambulon ex-vented and got up from the table. "Shift starts in five minutes."

"Let's do something different next time," Riptide suggested, standing and disposing of their empty cubes.

"Like what?" Ambulon took hold of his hand as they made their way toward the exit.

Riptide shrugged. "I don't know, but we could change things up a little. Even if it's just fueling somewhere else, a little variety might be nice. Just a thought. Feel free to ignore it."

They had reached the doorway.

"I like the sound of that," Ambulon mused. "Why don't you bring both our rations to the medical barrack on our next fuel shift?"

Riptide beamed at him. "Will do, Ambs."

They each started in the direction of their work shifts—and were stopped short by their still-linked hands. There was an awkward pause as they sheepishly smiled at each other. Ambulon recovered first. He released Riptide's hand and stood on his tiptoes to plant a haphazard kiss on his mouth.

"See you later."

"I'll ping you!" Riptide called after him. "Just in case!"


	27. Ambulon

"What do you want these for, anyway?" Shortfuse asked, accepting his datapad back after the files were copied onto the one in Ambulon's hand. "I thought you hated trashy romance novels. And I _know_ you've already read _Towards Peace_."

"I do," Ambulon replied, setting the new datapad on his berth, "and I have. They're for Riptide."

Red optics flashed in surprise. "Oh?"

"Yeah. He, um, he likes reading, and we were talking about switching things up for our next date, so I thought that we could just spend some quiet time together here."

"Made up, then, have you?"

"Well, yes. Five days ago, actually."

"Oh." Shortfuse folded his arms. "I suppose I've just been out of the loop." He cocked his head to the side. "So it was worth fixing. Good. What's next for you two?"

Most likely separation and/or death. Ambulon didn't want to think about that. "It's still just a casual thing."

Shortfuse paused on his way out the door to greet someone in the hallway. "Hi, Riptide. Don't throw any wild parties while I'm out; Trapper is recharging."

"Oh. Uh, okay?" The Hydrobot's voice was the epitome of awkwardness, as was his expression as he stepped into the barrack. "Hey, Ambs," he whispered, nervously glancing in the direction of Trapper's berth after every third step with that endearing expression of sheer _awk_. "Are you sure we won’t disturb him?"

"We won’t. Once he's out, he's out." Ambulon gestured to the berth. "Come sit down."

Riptide handed him one of the ration cubes and took a seat beside him. Ambulon passed the datapad to him in exchange.

"What's this?" The Hydrobot powered the device on and looked over its contents.

Ambulon sipped from his cube. "Reading material. Shortfuse let me download them. I thought you might—"

Riptide set down his cube and wrapped an arm around Ambulon, pulling him onto his lap in one motion. He tucked his chin over Ambulon's shoulder and opened up a file. "This is terrific, Ambs!"

Ambulon just smiled and tipped his cube back.


	28. Riptide

Riptide wouldn't have admitted for anything that he was enjoying this cliche-filled romance story. He would be teased mercilessly.

They had finished their energon, and Ambulon was half-recharging in his lap. Riptide had never been so comfortable. He stopped reading to nuzzle his partner's neck before continuing to scroll. He was a slow reader, but sheer stubbornness would carry him through.

He realized that he had lost track of time when Cold Front commed.

_"Where are you?"_

"What?"

_"We're heading out on perimeter patrol. Where are you?"_

"Slag, it's time for our shift already? I'm in the medical barrack—"

_"Well, finish whatever you're doing and get out here before Hacksaw has your head—he's still steamed at us for the hangar flood."_

"Sorry! On my way!"

As the link closed, he noticed Ambulon looking up at him, tired but alert. "Sorry I drifted off on you," the medic apologized.

Riptide grinned and squeezed him around the waist. "No worries. Looks like you needed it."

Ambulon gave a soft, low chuckle at that. He stretched up, aiming to kiss the edge of Riptide's jaw. Riptide tipped his head and caught his partner's lips with his own.

After a moment, he pulled back. "Thanks for thinking of this."

"It was nothing," Ambulon demurred. "Just a date."

"No, really, I—" He stopped himself. "It means a lot."

There was a strained silence between them until Ambulon offered a small smile and climbed off of his lap to sit beside him once more.

"You'd better get to your shift."

Riptide missed his presence already. He handed the datapad back. "Yeah, I guess so. See you next fuel shift?"

"Of course."

"Okay."

He glanced back as he walked out the door just in time to see Trapper roll over on his berth, wide awake. And he probably had been for the last hour. Riptide stifled a laugh and continued on his way.


	29. Ambulon

Ambulon jumped in surprise. "You're awake?" he yelped.

The surgeon rubbed at his optics. "Primus, that was the longest date I’ve ever had to fake recharge through!"

"You've done it more than once?"

"Mech, if I had a shanix for every... well, okay, I'd have two shanix. Three, now. But it's still a lot! And that was a long date, especially to be had in silence. I kept wanting to turn and see just what you were up to."

Ambulon shot him an icy glare. "Reading. It was a reading date. Couldn't you have just left after waking up?"

"I didn't want to mess with your flow, 'specially when you started talking. Seemed kind of stilted as it was."

"Stilted? No, it wasn't—"

"Eh, it's your life. Seriously, though, you two are adorable. So much snuggling. What happened to the closet trysts?"

Ambulon groaned. "It was one time! We had been sparring, it got heated..."

"Hey. You don't owe anyone an explanation. I was just curious 'cause I hadn't heard anything since that."

"Mm."

"But you like him."

"Obviously," he huffed.

"And he's crazy about you." Trapper's expression dared Ambulon to deny knowing it.

He didn't. "Well, he's got terrible taste."

"Don't sell yourself short. You've come a long way on your own." Something in his tone made Ambulon tense.

"...How much did you read?"

"Everything necessary as your responsible care provider."

The whole personnel file and medical history, then. "Shortfuse isn't...?"

"Nah. He's already got most of the base under his jurisdiction. I take the more complicated patients." Trapper shrugged. "Anyway, I mean it. You've been through a lot; you don't need me to tell you that. But you got out. You got out, and you snuck across a galaxy-sized warzone to do it. And you didn't stop there. You work hard, and you do good work. You're clearly on your way up." Ambulon didn't have a response for that. Luckily for him, Trapper wasn't finished. "Actually, you remind me of Shorts."

"I—what?"

"Yeah." He fished a datapad from his subspace and tapped through to an image file. "Take a look."

The mech staring at him from the screen may have had Shortfuse's frame shape, but the similarities ended there. Yellow and white paint was replaced by blue, thigh compartment mods replaced by a crate under each arm, and most drastically, the sullen look on his face showed no trace of the chipper mech Ambulon had come to know as his supervising officer.

Trapper grinned at the photo. "He was a courier before the war started. Hated it more than anything, but it paid the bills." He pulled the device back and flipped to some other file. "D'you mind if I get a little busy work done while we chat? You've got some time to kill before shift, right?"

"Yeah, of course." Ambulon realized he still held the datapad he had lent Riptide. Whoops. He'd meant to tell the Hydrobot to keep it. "So you knew Shortfuse before?"

"Sure did. He went to my night classes."

"You used to teach?” Try as he might, the idea of his nosy, obnoxious colleague as a teacher just wouldn’t click in his mind. “Wasn't the Senate against that sort of thing?"

Trapper caught the projectile without looking up. "Eh. They were losing power pretty quickly by then. I'm no social reformer. Just saw I had a chance to do something bigger with my skills, figured not every doctor gets the benefit of the government-funded fast track like I did." He waved the stylus vaguely. "And now look at Shorts. Mech worked harder than anybody. He's passed me up and branched out beyond what I could’ve taught. I'm real proud of him." He scribbled something on his datapad, then sat bolt upright as both their comms crackled to life. "Speak of the sparkeater."

_"I need both of you in here to prep the medibay for incoming casualties. The Hydrobot and Pretender units ran into a squadron of Decepticons, and it didn't go well."_

"Who's down?" Ambulon snapped, already heading for the hall with Trapper at his heels.

_"Calm down, it's not Riptide."_

"Why would you assume—never mind. We're on the way." At least now he could vent properly.


	30. Riptide

The rain poured, and they regrouped as blaster fire flashed all around. The smaller Pretenders headed into the fray first. Current and Washout followed them up the rocky slope—Topsail took to the air—Cold Front took point in the river while Sink and Riptide and Rudder formed up around him. They shot—

They reloaded—

They shot—

They—

Sink staggered back with a grunt of pain, slamming into Riptide. They both fell over in the water. Riptide flailed under his unitmate’s weight until Sink managed to straighten up, holding his arm for balance as they burst through the surface again. Riptide’s gaze was drawn to the bright pink flow of energon from Sink’s side into the water.

The rain poured, and the river water was waist-deep on Riptide, then chest-deep. Then he was— _he was neck-deep in liquid more energon than water, the heat thick and oppressive as weapons systems had no time to cool down between shots—the ‘Cons were everywhere, what on Cybertron was he here for when an hour ago he'd been in a classroom, his processor aching—it still hurt even now that everything was happening by instinct, the firing and transforming to skip across the pink waves and switching back to reload and firing some more, his batch brothers all around him doing the same thing even as they fell one by one and sank beneath the magenta surface and the waves grew that much pinker with every one down._

 _The rain poured, and_ they were stumbling back to base now, ghosts of Simanzi fading the farther they got from the ambush site. Riptide gained awareness of things gradually, without remembering having been told, perhaps not needing to be told. Washout was dead. Current had the greyed-out frame cradled in his arms. He’d strayed too far in the fight, chasing something, Current didn’t say what or who.

Riptide wasn't much smaller than Sink, but it was still difficult to support the heavily-armored submersible's weight as they staggered toward the medibay. No one spoke the whole way.

He was vaguely aware of Ambulon taking Sink from him, and less vaguely aware of sitting on the edge of a berth. After a few minutes, Trapper appeared at his side, fixing his blaster-fire scorches, and then he was alone again.

His optics felt hot, way hotter than comfortable, and his fuel tank was churning. Riptide doubled over, pressing the heels of his hands into his face, weapons systems finally cycling offline and leaving him feeling defenseless against the roiling confused emotions. Something felt broken.

Two pairs of footsteps rapidly approached him. A voice sounded nearby. Topsail.

"You'd better handle this."

"But I—yes, all right." Ambulon.

No, wait, he couldn't see Riptide like this, not all—whatever this was—Washout was dead and he didn’t care, _he didn’t care, did he, the mech surely wouldn’t feel like this over any of them, would he—_ and he hated Washout, he did, they all did, they said it all the time, he was a cheat and a bully and they _wouldn’t be sorry to see him go—_

Firm hands took hold of his arms.

"Come with me."

When he used that tone, Riptide could only obey.


	31. Ambulon

Ambulon maneuvered his partner into the empty isolation ward. Even Riptide's kibble was trembling. Primus. He led him to a berth in the back and pushed a cube of medical-grade energon into his hands.

"Sit," he ordered, then, once the Hydrobot complied, "Refuel."

He waited for the cube to be emptied, afraid of broaching the subject too early or in the wrong manner. After how badly he'd handled Traipse and Shortfuse when they lost Blindside, there was no telling what sort of damage he could cause.

"I'm sorry about Washout," he finally murmured.

At that, Riptide looked up at him and shook his head. "No, you're not. But you shouldn't be." His tremors intensified. "I'm not even that sorry. We've been in the same unit for a century, and I never liked him. Ever. Even a little."

"That's not something to be asha—"

"Yeah, it is!" Riptide corrected him. "If I didn't like him, then why am I like this now?" His voice crackled with static. "Why do I care?"

Oh. Oh, sweetspark. Ambulon knelt in front of his partner.

"Because you want to care," he said, wrapping his hand around Riptide's. "It's okay."

The Hydrobot made a soft, staticky sound and pitched forward, bringing his face to rest on Ambulon's collar plating. His engine rumbled unhappily, the rumble being interrupted by the occasional hiccup.

Ambulon reached over his shoulder with his free hand to pet Riptide's helm crest. It was kind of a cheater's move, but it worked wonders.

He kept petting until the engine hiccups had ceased entirely.

If Riptide reacted this badly to the death of someone he had hated, he was much thinner-shelled than Ambulon had thought. How much harder would he take their inevitable separation, especially with the assumption that one or both of them wouldn't make it to the end of the war?

_No, really, I—It means a lot._

Slag. Ambulon vented deeply. As long as it wasn't acknowledged, Riptide had a chance at emerging from this relationship relatively unscathed.

He just couldn't be allowed to know how much it also meant to Ambulon.


	32. Riptide

It was weird, honestly, how the Hydrobot unit latched onto one another after Washout died. Cold Front made team meetings mandatory and went so far as to have Current enforce the rule. They fueled together, too, more often than not. Riptide would have objected to that, but with it came a sudden willingness on everyone's parts to welcome Ambulon into the group every time they gathered.

He wasn't sure whether that was on account of Washout's poor treatment of Ambulon or for Riptide's sake. They had been treating him like he was made of glass lately—although it might have been warranted, given his breakdown in the medibay. But he knew for a fact that Current and Topsail both cried at the funeral.

Anyway, Ambulon had been spending a lot of time with the whole unit lately. It was cool to watch him open up a little more.

Cool and entertaining. Somehow he and Sink had gotten into an argument about the merits (or lack thereof) of motivational speaking. At least, that's what Riptide thought they were on about. The dispute finally ended as the others got up to leave for the washracks, and Ambulon released a puff of air from his vents in exasperation before looking across the table at Riptide.

"It's gotten better," he commented abruptly. "Your unit, I mean. Closer. You've started acting like you care about each other."

Riptide wasn't sure how to respond to that, but Ambulon wasn't done.

"I think I'm actually starting to like them. Just a little."

Riptide snorted. "Does this mean you don't think we're a bunch of idiots anymore?"

"No. You're all ridiculous, and it's a miracle you've survived this long. But you seem more... well, take Cold Front, for instance; he's starting to take charge. Shortfuse's stopped complained about his behavior after officer meetings, and that has to count for something. You all..." He trailed off.

Uh-oh. Riptide tried to prompt him. "I guess we are acting more like a proper unit," he conceded, watching his partner's expression carefully.

"It's... nice," Ambulon murmured. "To watch you together."

Should he probe a little deeper? "Did you have a unit before—well, before?"

Ambulon's eyes flashed. He vented in deeply.

"Ambs? You don't have to answer if it's... if it's hard." He reached out under the table to tap his partner's knee.

Ambulon latched onto it and vented again, then shook his head. He glanced around the mess hall. No one was paying them any attention.

"Operation: Split Infinity," he began quietly, "was an experiment in gestalt technology."

That rang a faint bell. "Like... combining gestalts?"

"Like combining gestalts. They called us the Combicons—the first constructed Decepticon combiner, in theory."


	33. Ambulon

Ambulon spilled more of his life story than he had to anyone before.

He didn't talk about the experiments in detail. There were a lot of them, and they were painful, and they never seemed to stop until the subjects went into forced shutdown. That was enough.

Riptide's grip on his hand tightened repeatedly as he spoke. When he finally trailed off again, the Hydrobot seemed likewise at a loss for words.

"Gestalt teams... they're sparkbonded, aren't they?" he asked hesitatingly.

"Yes. We were." He vented in again. "And it was more integrated with our frames than voluntary bonds. We felt all of each other's pain as well as our own."

The memory of a scream echoed in his processor, and he shook his helm as if to clear it from his mind.

"Sometimes the only thing to soothe the ache in our sparks was to huddle as close to one another as possible," he confided. "We recharged in a heap on the rare occasions that we recharged of our own volition." He could almost feel Kicker's arm along his neck as he spoke, one of Abdominus' knees against his side, Swing's chevron poking his shoulder and Arm-Or's entire torso pinning his legs to the berth, hearing Dom’s lecture about spending his off time around "unsavory types," wondering whether most of the base personnel counted as "unsavory" after all and really, how much worse could Fangry be if he stood up for him and Kicker?

Riptide tilted his helm to the side. "That explains some things."

Ambulon knew his EM field was broadcasting embarrassment. "Well. Yes."

"So did you all ever... you know..."

"Combine? No." He dipped his head. "We got close once, but I fainted. It was at the tail end of a long string of tests."

"What were they like? Your unit."

The memories rushed in unbidden.

"We were all so naive when they brought us online. Convinced we were going to help win the war, make our officers proud. They fed us all sorts of dreams, and we took it all to spark."

He vented hard. "Abdominus especially. Nothing was more important to him than pleasing the technicians. That zeal was probably what held us together for as long as we were. He could have been a charismatic leader if it weren't for his slavish devotion to the cause." An imagined part of his spark stung in protest at the harsh words. He moved on.

"Arm-Or thought more with his fists than his head. He couldn't wait to finish the tests so we could be declared battle-ready. And he really thought we'd make it. We used to joke that he'd absorbed my share of our optimism in the reactor, and that Swing absorbed half his share of abstract thought." A chuckle broke loose from his constricted intake. "Primus, Swing was a handful. He always had some sort of racket planned, and they almost never worked. Which was good, because when they did... well, we all regretted it."

He needed a subject change. There was one more. "And Kicker... Kicker was curious about everything. He daydreamed constantly. Sometimes I think the daydreaming was the only thing that kept him going. He wasn't as resilient as the rest of us."

Riptide's EM field rippled with apprehension. "So, when you left, what happened to them?"

"I don't know," Ambulon admitted, and it felt better than it should have to say it. "When I joined the Autobots, they surgically severed the bond to prevent espionage. It was—painful." Riptide curled his other hand around their clasped ones. Ambulon bit his lower lip and glanced down. "I hope they're dead," he stated, barely above a whisper. "They're better off dead."

This was a lot more than he was ever expecting to share with Riptide. But then, it was the first time he'd ever wanted to share this stuff. Temporary nature of the relationship aside, this was a step forward.


	34. Riptide

All of this information both fascinated and disturbed Riptide. On the one hand, it was Ambulon's life, and certain details explained so much of his behavior that he _had_ to know more, as if just one more anecdote would allow him to know his partner in the most complete sense of the word.

On the other hand: this sucked exhaust. Every description of the things Ambulon had been put through ignited a rage in Riptide that he had no way to act upon. How dare they, how dare they violate him, how dare they tinker with his spark and mind and frame and those of his brothers, how dare they bring him online to a world of so much agony and dependence when he was a mech in his own right, alive and beautiful and brilliant and none of it appreciated by his creators, even his life itself considered meaningless except as a means to destroy on a battlefield.

Actually, that last bit was more part of the MTO experience. But Pit, Riptide could be angry about that, too! There was plenty of anger to go around!

Ambulon continued after a long pause. "If I wasn't replaced—and at this point I really doubt that I was, given the operation's lack of progress—they've either been reassigned as frontliners, scrapped with the project, or executed for treason on account of my defection."

"..." Riptide could only stare at him. Ambulon shrugged, not out of nonchalance but out of discomfort.

"They wouldn't last long on a battlefield," he elaborated. "None of us have built-in weaponry, and all but the most basic combat training was being saved for when we could combine. No matter what Arm-Or thought, he'd never make it in a real attack." He looked away again. "If they were executed, I can only hope that it was quick. They weren't perfect—none of us are—but no one deserves to have their name on the List."

"The List?"

Riptide's hand creaked when Ambulon squeezed it. Where had he heard of the List before?

"You mean... the DJD's List? Of 'Con traitors?"

"I mean."

He hadn't considered that before. "So you're on it, then."

"Most likely."

"But if you're the one who defected, then it's scrap to blame the others!" He paused. "Well, I mean, Decepticons and all that, but it's still scrap. Even for 'Cons."

Ambulon offered him a half-sparked grin. "So now you know. The whole story this time."

What did it mean that he'd told Riptide everything? They'd always been on the borderline of casual, but this was an intensely personal topic. Riptide hardly dared to hope that this could mean stepping over the line to something beyond the temporary. Maybe this would be the time to...

"Ambs, I—"

The datapads they'd set on the table lit up. Ambulon startled and looked down at his. "Hold on."

Riptide followed suit with his own. "What the—"

It was a base-wide notice: Acron had been decommissioned. All personnel were to have their barracks clean by the third shift for inspection. Transfer assignments would be passed out by the inspecting officers.

Of course everything had to be done quickly. They couldn't let the 'Cons get wind of it, after all. His engine turned over unhappily. Life, he mused, had awful timing.


	35. Ambulon

Smelt him, it would come right when he let his guard down. Ambulon wanted to throw his datapad across the mess hall. Instead, he vented long and deep before glancing up to offer Riptide a bitter smile.

"Well, we knew we were on borrowed time."

Riptide echoed his tone. "We always are."

The universe really did seem to have it out for their kind. He chose his next words carefully, conscious of his partner's reaction. "So this isn't new information."

Under the table, Riptide gave his hand one more squeeze and let go. "Nope," he replied softly. One corner of his mouth trembled. Ambulon tried to ignore it.

As if by magic, Rudder appeared at Riptide's elbow. "Got the memo?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, Ambulon."

"'Lo."

"So, Rip, you know how our barrack has been kind of... a disaster zone?"

Riptide's optics brightened in realization. "Aw, slag."

"Uh-huh. Come on, bubble-brain: we need all hands on deck."

Riptide looked back at Ambulon as he stood up. "I, uh, I'll see you later, okay?"

Ambulon nodded. "I've got first shift," he reminded the Hydrobot.

"After that, then." As Rudder tugged him out the door, Riptide added, "Don't forget!"

"I won't," he murmured.

So. One day left, then they'd be off to wherever Command saw fit to send them. His empty cube hit the back of the waste chute with a muffled clang, and he stood up abruptly. It wouldn't do any good to sit and dwell on it.

Trapper greeted him in the medibay. "Ready to get some new marching orders?" the surgeon asked.

Ambulon walked past him and got to work checking over a recovering Pretender. "Now, Groundbreaker, let's see if we can get you cleared for release today."

A blissful twenty minutes of work followed, but eventually Trapper would not be ignored. He was insistent.

"What are you going to do if he's transferred separately?"

"He probably is," Ambulon ceded, having moved on to cleaning a bit of spilled energon off the floor, "but we knew it was coming."

"Thus the whole 'casual dating' thing."

"Exactly."

"And how's that working out for you?" Shortfuse asked as he entered the medibay.

Trapper grinned and saluted Ambulon. "That's the end of my shift—good luck!"

Ambulon hunched his shoulders as Shortfuse pulled out a tray of instruments to clean.

"Ambulon?"

"..."

"I asked you a question."

"Sir..."

Red eyes glowed at him from over the top of a scanner. "I'm serious."

Ambulon gave in. It wasn't like he could talk about this with Riptide; that would just hurt him more when they split. Slag, was it really less than three shifts away?

He put his mop away and sat on the nearest berth. "It's not working out well. Staying casual."

Shortfuse sat beside him and handed him a second tool tray and a rag. "I hadn't considered you the kind to get attached."

"I—I hadn't either."

"Wouldn't you know, Blindside was the one to predict it?" His supervisor's chuckle sounded on the edge of becoming something else.

Ambulon winced. "You don't need to talk about him if it—"

"He's gone, yeah," Shortfuse interrupted. "But he'd want me to tell you that he called it." 

Ambulon remembered Blindside's intent questioning that day in the mess hall as Shortfuse went on.

"He told me after he'd been introduced to you two, 'there's no such thing as an insignificant interaction when it comes to two lonely mecha.'" Another half-chuckle. "He was good at reading people, Blindside was."

"I—" Ambulon stumbled over his words in protest. "We—He wasn't lonely. He isn't lonely. He has a whole unit. He's fine."

Shortfuse patted his shoulder. "I wouldn't know," he said gently.


	36. Riptide

Riptide had nearly finished piling junk into a waste bin when Ambulon pinged. He scooped the last armful of cans and the like into the bin and waved Cold Front over.

"Done!"

His leader looked around his bunk area. "Seems clear. You in a hurry or something?"

"Well, yeah. I'm meeting up with Ambulon." He glanced around as he stood up, and his spark sank at the sight of his unitmates' pitying eyes. "I'll be back before inspection starts," he added as he headed for the door.

"Oi, Riptide!" Topsail called after him.

He turned around. "What?"

Rudder tossed something in his direction. He just barely caught it.

It was—polish? The fancy kind Rudder hoarded to trade for high-value contraband?

Sink spoke up. "Hit the washracks while you're out. Wouldn't want you to make us look bad at inspection."

Riptide grinned. "Thanks, mecha."

He met Ambulon coming down the hall from the medibay and looped an arm around his with a practiced motion, using the connection to correct their course. Ambulon allowed himself to be maneuvered. His EM field broadcasted confused amusement.

"Where are we going?"

"Washracks. The squad seems to think I could do with a rinse." He winked and displayed the tin of polish in his free hand.

Ambulon smiled, and his spark twinged. "Well, I wasn't going to say anything, but..." His arm wrapped more securely around Riptide's.

Riptide pulled him through the double doors of the washroom and looked around. "We've got the place to ourselves. Guess everyone's focused on cleaning the barracks." Or maybe the other Hydrobots had something to do with it. He'd have to thank them later if that was the case.

Ambulon tugged him under a shower nozzle. He subspaced the polish before the solvent started. Ambulon produced a rag and looked him over.

"I can't reach that high."

Riptide knelt down. Ambulon began scrubbing the top points of his keel kibble. The room was silent aside from the patter of solvent. Uncomfortable but at a loss for words, Riptide brought out his own rag and got to work on his face and chestplate. When Ambulon reached his waist and tugged him to stand up, he couldn't take the solemnity any longer. He turned and caught the medic's mouth with his.

Ambulon whacked him with the wet rag as he pulled away. "I'm not done!"

Riptide just grinned back as his partner finished scrubbing the areas he couldn't reach himself. Then he carefully took hold of Ambulon's arm and ran his rag over the flecks of rust and energon left from his shift. Ambulon stood still and silent as he worked his way up that arm and down the other, avoiding eye contact the whole time. As Riptide moved around to work on his back plating, his EM field pulsed faint waves of something hard to read.

He was pulled back into the present by the feeling of Ambulon's hand on his collar armor. His concerned yellow gaze swept over Riptide's face. Riptide smiled weakly at him. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. The bracing hand became an exploring hand, fingers moving over and pressing into his neck cabling.

Riptide's fans switched on. Ambulon's eyes brightened. He stepped closer until they were nearly chest-to-chest. Riptide subspaced his rag and settled his hands on his partner's waist, closing the gap between them with a soft thunk. Ambulon's helm rested against his collar. A faint trembling was discernible in his frame, but he seemed determined to ignore it as evidenced by his mapping out the surface area of Riptide's chest, neck, and jawline with insistent kisses.

Riptide fumbled behind himself for the control dial and shut off the spray of solvent. Finding that his partner was all but glued to him in every direction he moved, he guided the both of them into the drying booth and activated the high-power blowers. Now even if he could find the right words, he'd have a hard time making himself heard over the noise. The warm air seemed to have a hand in relaxing Ambulon a little, though.

“About earlier," Riptide finally said as the blowers shut off, "I, um, I wanted to say thanks. For trusting me with that. It must have been hard to talk about, but..." He trailed off as he fumbled for the tin of polish in his subspace. "...I feel like I understand you a lot better now," he finished, unscrewing the lid and setting it to the side.

Ambulon smiled at that, but his eyes dimmed a little as he sat down on the nearest bench. "I appreciate you listening. I hadn't talked about them in—well, in a long time, if at all." Something in his frame—engine, maybe, but he didn't have a vehicle mode—thrummed when Riptide began rubbing the polish into his plating. "Nnn." He all but melted under the cloth.

This time the silence was comfortable. Riptide let it be as he worked. Ambulon's EM field fluctuated gently. The stressed undertone remained, but contentment radiated out as well.

They switched placed when Riptide was done, and Ambulon got halfway through returning the favor before speaking again.

"Listen, this past month... it's been good. Really good." He'd reached Riptide's helm crest, and Riptide had a hard time focusing on his words. "I just... I just wanted to say thank you."

"Don't have to thank me for anything," Riptide mumbled, engine rumbling contentedly.

"Riptide," Ambulon huffed, "will you let me say this? We've only got a few hours left, and—"

Riptide interrupted him. "Okay." He didn't want to hear the reasoning.

Ambulon made one last stroke of the polish cloth over his helm. "You've been amazing. I may not have much experience with this relationship thing, but it's clear to anyone with visual and audial sensors how much effort you've put in. I'm afraid I haven't returned the favor anywhere near as well as you deserve, but I want you to remember this every time you're comparing yourself to the mechs around you. In every anxious moment, in every lonely night." He set the cloth down and wrapped his arms around Riptide's neck. "You are worth so much more than you think you are. Thank you for sharing yourself with me."

Warm fuzzy feelings aside, that sounded far too much like a goodbye. Riptide carefully returned the hug. "It's going to be okay," he said fiercely. "I know it is."

Ambulon had a wry smile on his face as he pulled away. "Wishful thinking," he murmured.

They returned their things to subspace and prepared to leave under the oppressive return of the silence.

Riptide's spark burned in his chest. He couldn't leave things like this. Ambulon had gotten that entire monologue out in the name of closure. Why couldn't Riptide say the one thing on his own mind?

He braced himself as they walked toward the exit. "Ambs, I—"

Ambulon interrupted. "Don’t." He pressed a hard kiss to Riptide’s lips before pushing open the nearest door. "Ping me when you’ve got your new assignment," he said over his shoulder.

"Ambulon—"

He had already gone.


	37. Ambulon

Delphi. He was being sent to Delphi.

Ambulon barely registered Riptide's ping. He completely ignored the pings that followed, even as they mounted into a steady stream bouncing off of his comm receptors. Ping, ping, ping, ping-ping-ping-pingpingpingping—

Folded up as small as he could make himself on his berth, he stared at the little box of personal effects he would be taking with him in twenty minutes to the single most dangerous Autobot facility a former Decepticon could be stationed at.

It figured that the first time he got an actual briefing on a base, it would be one that he already knew of.

He'd been sure that one or both of them wouldn't make it to the end of the war somehow, but this... this was not the way he wanted to go.

The quick, heavy footsteps down the hall grew louder until Riptide appeared in the doorway. He skidded to a stop in front of Ambulon's berth.

"Ambs! What happened? Why weren't you answering your comm?" He glanced around. "Where is everyone?"

Ambulon was surprised by how level his voice came out. "Heading for their transfer shuttles." Reassured that he could trust his frame not to betray his terror, he looked up to meet Riptide's gaze. "Where are they sending your unit?"

Riptide shrugged, distracted for the moment. "We're headed to some water planet or other. Cold Front has the datapad, since we're transferring as a unit." The distraction failed as he tilted his helm to the side, optics brightening. "What does your assignment say?"

He mutely handed over his datapad. Riptide read it silently, but his mouth formed each awful word. At the end, he looked back to Ambulon.

"Isn't Messatine supposed to be, you know..."

"DJD territory," and again, Ambulon was surprised by his own calm demeanor. He could feel it coming apart at the seams as he spoke. "Close as it gets, anyway."

Riptide blanched. "They can't—they can't send you there, can they? That's gotta be... unlawful endangerment or—or something."

Ambulon stretched his legs out to sit normally on the edge of the berth. "They can and they are. For what it's worth, they're making me ward manager." He paused. "My shuttle leaves in fifteen minutes."

His hands were suddenly taken captive. Riptide squeezed them tightly, his optics wide and too bright. "But—they're sending you to die! It'd be a miracle if you make it out!"

"Then I guess I had better start praying," Ambulon snapped back, pulling his hands away. He bit his lip at sight of the wounded expression on Riptide’s pink face. "Sorry—sorry—I just—you're scared. I know. But you don't need to tell me what's waiting for me out there. There's nothing I can do about it."

The hopelessness of the situation seemed to have sunk in. Riptide vented. "So... this really is it, then."

Ambulon nodded. "We're MTOs. What else could we expect?"

"I—I hoped..." He was making this so much harder than it already was. Riptide tentatively reached for his hand.

Ambulon launched himself into his arms and kissed him, part dentae, part glossa, all desperation, as if they could combine into a single mech strong enough to resist the forces pulling them apart. He breathed in the scent of trioxygen and polish, memorized every fluctuation of Riptide's EM field as it washed over him for the last time.

He'd think of this when Tarn's mecha came for him, and he'd die with a smile on his face.

Upon separating, Riptide started again. "Ambs, I need to say—"

"Please don't." Ambulon was aware that he was begging. Riptide acquiesced, optics dimming.

Ambulon took a step back as he spoke. "I need to be on board in eight minutes." He reached for his box.

Riptide picked it up first and hesitated for a moment before passing it over. Their hands brushed. Riptide stared into his eyes for a long moment.

"Stay safe," he finally said.

Ambulon's vocalizer locked up. "I'll do my best," he managed, and headed for the door.

He looked back one last time from the hall. Riptide had turned away and sat down on the berth. The flickering light from his optics showed the effort it took not to look at Ambulon. He must have realized at last that dragging it out would make it worse. It was a sweet gesture, but it came far too late.

"Thank you," Ambulon whispered. With reluctant steps, he began the walk into his future.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading and for your sweet comments, and I hope you enjoy the ride.


End file.
